


Perfect

by Rae666



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Dean Winchester-centric, Gen, John Winchester's Journal, John's Journal, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2019-11-08 23:44:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 57,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rae666/pseuds/Rae666
Summary: Sam and Dean head to a town from their youth on a case, but find more than they bargained for. Could it be that they’ve faced the same creature when they were young? Dean-centric





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything associated with the show.
> 
>  
> 
> Author Notes: Okay, so it’s been a long while since I wrote any new fanfic and certainly a long while since I started a brand new Supernatural fic! But after working on an old fic, I found I’m not quite ready to give these boys up just yet, and I need to stretch my writing muscles a bit.
> 
> This is a story I've had kind of on the burner for a long time so it's been fun getting the chance to actually work on it. It's also one of the first Supernatural fics I've wrote that isn't set in season 1 or 2, so it's something different for me. I've also just realised this is my first time posting Supernatural on this site because it didn't exist back in the day when I originally started posting.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Set early Season 14.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 1

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_New Hope, Indiana_

For the first time in months, things were looking up for Peter Jones. After the divorce the year before and losing his job to the very same guy he had lost his wife to, dragging himself up from the pit of despair he had fallen into had been difficult. But he had done it. He had a new job and was up for promotion, he had joined the gym and shed fifty pounds of deadweight, and now he was on his way home after a very successful date with Missy Carlton.

The road ahead was empty, the forest on either side visible only as far as the light from his headlights stretched out to. His fingers tapped against his steering wheel in time with the beat of the music that played through the radio, and he sang along to what words he knew, half mumbling, half humming the others as the song changed and Dean Martin began to croon through the speakers of Peter's newly bought, albeit a little beat up and used, Camaro.

_"How lucky can one guy be? I kissed her and she kissed me."_

He twisted at the knob of the radio, turning the music up louder, a lazy smile toying at his lips as he sang out of tune and out of time. For the briefest of moments, static muted the music, but it was gone as quick as it came, leaving Peter to frown at the dial in confusion. He tapped it once, but when Dean Martin continued on without any further disruptions, Peter simply shrugged it off and raised his eyes once more to the road before him.

The next line never made it passed his lips.

A shadow darted out of the tree line and he gripped his steering wheel tight, slamming hard on the brakes, the force causing his head to smash against the wheel.

The car skidded and slipped on the road, the wet from the rain earlier that day worsening the lack of grip. When it had finally stopped spinning, Peter raised his head from the steering wheel, grimacing at the pain that sliced through his temple. He traced a finger along his brow, hissing and pulling it away when he hit a definite wet spot.

"Damn it…" he cursed, turning his bleary eyes to the road, attempting to search out the shadow that had darted in front of his car.

Nothing.

Feeling more than a little shaken, he opened the driver's side door with a creak and pulled himself from the car. The first step was fine, but the second had him shooting his hand out to grip the cold metal of the car, steadying himself. He closed his eyes to fight off the dizziness, the sound of Dean Martin drowning out the light crunch, crunch of footsteps behind him until they were right upon him.

He swung around too late. Before he could even see who was there, he was sent crashing down to the ground with a heavy weight to the head. The last thing he heard, before the darkness of unconscious could claim him, was wheezing breath next to his face as his radio continued on.

_"My head keeps spinning. I go to sleep and keep grinning. If this is just the beginning, my life is gonna' be beautiful…"_

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_ Lebanon, Kansas _

"I'm telling you, Sam," Dean said, sidling through the library with a plate in one hand and beer in the other. He dropped down into the seat across from his brother at the table, his eyes never leaving Sam, eyebrows raised in a way that suggested he was the older brother and he knew best. "This is a waste of time. We should be out there, trying to find Michael – hunting that son of a bitch down."

"And we'll do that," Sam answered patiently, raising his own eyebrow at Dean and the overly full burger now in the eldest's grasp, "just as soon as we get a lead."

Dean grunted around a mouthful of bread and meat and cheese, and used the hand that wasn't holding the burger to pull the laptop toward him, swinging it around so he could see the screen and the news article displayed there. He wanted to argue further with Sam. He really did, but in his heart, he knew his brother was right. Still, that didn't stop the constant irritating itch that gnawed at him from deep within. Michael was priority, but in the meantime, they still had a job to do.

"So remind me," Dean continued, swallowing the food in his mouth and putting the burger down so he had both hands free for the laptop, "this 'case'?"

Sam cleared his throat and adjusted himself, sitting just that little bit straighter, the movement causing several loose papers to slip free and drift down toward the floor. He swooped down to pick them up in one quick motion before spreading them out across the table between them. "Okay, so perfectly normal town, then three weeks back, people start turning up dead. Latest vic – Peter Jones. Found on the edge of town early yesterday, heart ripped out."

"Werewolf?" Dean questioned, brow burrowing, eyes focused on the printed out article Sam was motioning to, all the while attempting to brush off his brother's infectious energy. "But full moon was last week."

"That's what I thought," Sam shifted the papers, pulling another article to the surface. "but then, we know not all werewolves need the full moon-"

"So it is werewolves?" Dean interrupted, pursing his lips in thought and confusion, his mind wandering to the few pure-bloods they had ran into over the more recent years.

Sam shook his head. "No."

Dean pushed back in his seat a little, holding his hands out in questioning. He said nothing. He didn't need to. He knew Sam could read him well enough to know that Dean was waiting for him to continue and explain himself.

"The previous vic still had her heart, and so did the one before that, and the one before that." As Sam spoke, he shuffled through each article in turn, pointing to the particular sections he had circled, but never giving Dean time to fully read them.

"And this is our kind of gig because…?"

"Each person had something different missing. Sally Andrews was missing her entire left arm. Lara Cummings, her leg from the knee down, Matthew Harrison had his lungs missing. And now, Peter Jones." Sam turned the laptop just enough so he could see the screen and control the cursor, bringing up what must have been the latest article. "Dean, whatever is doing this is ripping people apart and it's not just after hearts."

"Again – how is this our kind of gig? What's to say it's not a bear or a wolf?"

"Dean…" A low warning tone, drawn out very much in the way Sam had always done, ever since he was a child. The same tone that always had him getting his way. That tone and those damn puppy dog eyes were forever Dean's weakness.

"Okay, fine!" Dean relented holding his hands up briefly in defeat. He turned his attention to the article, mouthing the words as he read what was written there before coming to a pause. "New Hope… Why does that sound familiar? Why do I know that name?"

"I don't know, I think we stayed in a New Hope when were kids once? For what, like a month?" Sam suggested with a shrug, only half paying attention to Dean, which was fine by Dean, because that gave him opportunity to commandeer the laptop once more as a half forgotten memory began to emerge, scratching at the back of his mind.

Dean's fingers played across the keys until he finally found what he was looking for, his eyes lighting up and a wide grin spreading across his face. It was another online news article, but unlike the others, this one was less grim, with a bright and happy picture sitting just beneath the title.

"Bam!" he said, swinging the laptop around so his brother could see and leaning in as if he was about to tell Sam the greatest secret of the universe. "Hudson's perfect apple pie – winner of the annual fair for five years running. They dropped out after the fifth year to give others a chance."

Head tilted to the side, Sam eyed Dean with bewilderment. "How do you even know that?"

"Dude, it was the best damn pie I've ever had. Ever. I swear, it was made with a gold dust or something. Dottie, the lady that ran the diner, she swore she'd give me the recipe one day."

There was a smile on Sam's lips, a crinkling of amusement in the lines around his eyes. "Dude, you're drooling."

"You obviously don't remember that pie."

Sam shook his head, gathering up the papers on the table. "I'll make sure to let Grant and Harry know – they just got finished up dealing with a skinwalker in Cincinnati, so I'll get them to swing by and check this out."

"Don't you dare." Dean closed the laptop with one hand, his eyes never leaving Sam. "According to the article, Hudson's is still open, so we're going."

"Dean, it's half a day's drive out, and you said so yourself – we don't know what this is yet. Grant and Harry are already practically there."

"We've driven a lot further for a lot less."

Again, a small smile tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth. "You just want the pie."

"Award winning pie, from Apple to Pecan. Best. Pie. Ever."

"Okay then… looks like we're going to New Hope."

Dean took a quick swig of his beer and pushed up from his seat. "That we are, and I'm gonna get me some pie!"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_New Hope, Indiana_

As a general rule of hunting, you never hit the same town more than once. It was a rule John had engrained into both Sam and Dean. It was a rule they broke only on occasion… unless there was good reason to break it; like visiting a friend, a mess they had to clean up, or a slice of the best damn award-winning apple pie Dean had ever tasted.

Growing up, some towns stood out, vivid memories attached to them – some good, most bad – but the majority all sort of faded into a blur where all the teachers looked the same, and all the schools, and all the backdrops. But sometimes, for Dean, a memory would surface of a particular town and place. Sometimes his mind wandered back to the simpler days, where anything seemed possible, where his dad was a superhero and Dean was a hero in training, and every bite of pie was as sweet as the last. He smiled, content in the memory, as he parked up the Impala and turned off the engine.

"You really don't remember the pie?" he asked Sam, for the umpeenth time since they had set off and driven through the night so they could make it there by late afternoon.

Sam let go of a heavy breath. "No, Dean, I don't," he answered, also for the umpteenth time, before adding something he hadn't said before, "but now that I think about it, I do remember dad kicking your ass for sneaking out because you were supposed to be on bed rest."

"Pfft," Dean answered dismissively, waving his hand at Sam before clambering from the car. "Bed rest."

"Dude, you spent the first week here hopped up on meds and talking about sugar plum fairies. You scared the neighbour half to death because she thought you were a walking corpse."

"I wasn't that bad."

"Dad threatened to tie you to the bed post. Dad. John 'Walk it off' Winchester."

At that, Dean had to purse his lips and nod, seeing Sam's point. But in another moment, he was brushing it off and adjusting the collar of his Game Warden uniform. They had work to do. "Let's get this over with so I can get me some pie."

Sam merely rolled his eyes in response, but within half an hour, they were being led through the morgue by the technician on duty, an older man by the name of Jefferson with eyes rimmed black no doubt from lack of sleep, making him look older than he was, a coffee cup firmly attached to his palm.

"Where did you say you boys are from again?" Jefferson questioned, voice as worn as the lines on his face.

"Salem," Dean supplied with a forced smile.

Jefferson merely nodded and turned away, leading the way through the halls once more and on toward where the bodies were being kept. "Well, I hate to say it, but I think you boys have had a wasted journey."

"Why do you say that?" Sam questioned, falling into step just behind the man.

"I ain't saying I've seen anything like this before, not in my ten years here or my twenty years back in Michigan, but I can tell you one thing – this weren't no animal attack." He opened the door to the icy room, holding it open long enough for the brothers to pass through before joining them at the table in the centre of the room, cup discarded on a table near the entrance.

"How can you be so sure?" Sam glanced around the room, eyes lingering on the close drawers before moving back to the body covered up on the table in front of them.

"You ever met a bear that could use a knife before?" the man asked. "Or how about a cougar with a scalpel?"

Neither brother answered, simply sharing a look before returning their attention to the technician. He said nothing further as he pulled back the cover to reveal a fresh cadaver on the table. It looked to be a perfectly normal dead body pre-autopsy, if there was such a thing as perfectly normal, and that right there was the problem.

Dean held up a finger, his mouth working as he looked between Sam and the technician, a deep crease forming in his brow. "That's… She…"

Sam cleared his throat, and Dean could tell his brother was as confused as he was. "This victim… she isn't in our files."

"Well, she wouldn't be. She's barely even in the system." Jefferson pulled two pairs of gloves free from a box beside the table, donning one pair and holding out the second set for them. "Sadie Williams. They found her this morning, out by the creek in the woods. Real shame too. She was due to graduate college soon; one of the good ones too! Got herself a real nice job lined up too, but she came back home for the summer to enjoy her last few months of freedom I suppose."

"Bet she wishes she hadn't," Dean mumbled under his breath, earning himself a jab to the ribs that could have been easily misinterpreted as Sam reaching for the second set of gloves, but Dean knew it was too precise to be anything but deliberate. Jaw clenched, he sent a silent glare Sam's way.

"You seem to know a lot about the victim," Sam pressed on, following Jefferson's lead as the technician focused on the young girl's face.

"It's a small town, everyone knows just about everyone here." Jefferson, completely unfazed, pulled back the lid of the victim's right eye, motioning for Sam to do the same with the left.

Sam was a little less composed, his body suddenly stiffening as he complied. It didn't matter how many dead bodies they had come across, or how many creatures they killed, or how much blood they saw, there were still things in life that could have them wanting to bring up their breakfast in the nearest trash can. Two completely empty eye sockets was one of those things.

Dean didn't miss the way Sam swallowed thickly, or the way he all but jumped back when Jefferson covered up the body once more, the latter stripping the gloves free from his hands and dropping them into the nearby trash can.

"This ain't no animal attack," was all Jefferson said, one eyebrow raised as if he was expecting them to argue.

"Any chance we could get a copy of her file?" Sam questioned, eagerly disposing of his own gloves, gaze flickering toward the body on the table before focusing on Jefferson once more. "And the others too?"

"I'm not sure how it'll help ya…" Jefferson said with a light shake of his head. "Like I said, not an animal attack."

"We just need to dot the I's and cross the T's with the guys back at the office," Dean offered up. "You know how management gets. They like to be thorough. If we head back without any paperwork, well, they'll just make us drive right back out here."

Jefferson bobbed his head. "Sure, I'll go get a copy now, but as you can see – this autopsy hasn't been done yet."

Sam stepped forward before Jefferson could make his way toward the doorway. "Even so, any ideas on the cause of death… besides the er… the…" He motioned to his eyes.

"Her lack of eyes?" Jefferson questioned, before continuing on. "Heart failure seems favourite. Lab's still working on the blood work, but seems to me she was given something that sent her into cardiac arrest. Same with the others… well, 'far as I can tell." His eyes lingered for a moment on one of the drawers, but he shook his head, no doubt shaking away the cobwebs there. "I'll get you that paperwork."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_I screwed up. I thought I knew what we were dealing with. I thought it was just a regular hunt and I had all my ducks in a row. Dean paid the price._

_Everything pointed to a Water Sprite, so a simple ritual in the moonlight should have done the job. It all seemed to be going so smoothly. Of course, turns out a binding fairy circle doesn't work on a Kappa. I let my guard down and the damn thing grabbed Dean and dragged him into the water._

_I nearly lost our son tonight, Mary. What would you think of me? What would you say?_

_He's passed out in bed, wrapped up in as many sheets as I could find to help stop the shivering. He doesn't complain, but I can already tell infection is setting in. I'll let him rest tonight, but tomorrow we're heading south, maybe find some place to hold up while school is out, let Dean rest._

_You would have been proud… Took that Kappa's head off clean. He's a natural. It's almost like he was made for this life. I just wish I could offer them a different life, but knowing what's out there – I need to protect them, and training them, teaching them everything I know, it's the only way I know how._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with some more! I'm trying to keep a little ahead with writing this, so I can update either every week or every other week depending on how things go. Hope you enjoy what I've got in store for you.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 2

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Almost as soon as the door was closed behind Jefferson as he disappeared to get the documents, Sam grabbed another set of disposable gloves and motioned toward the metal drawers, in particular the one Jefferson had glanced toward. Even from where he stood, Sam could see the small placeholder was marked Jones – the guy with the missing heart. Dean obeyed the unspoken request without question, opening the door and pulling out the tray to reveal the victim that had first alerted Sam to the case.

Brow burrowed, Dean reached down to check the toe tag, his thoughts no doubt following Sam's, and his words echoing the sentiment. "'The hell, dude?"

"I don't know," Sam answered with a shake of his head. His fingers traced along the lines on the victim's chest, confusion sweeping in at the sight of the body.

Just like the one on the table, this one was too neat. He had expected to find claw marks or ragged edges, not a body that was, aside from being dead, in relatively good condition. Jefferson was right about one thing, whatever had killed these people wasn't an animal, but that didn't mean they were human either.

"I mean, look at this," Sam continued, "there's nothing to suggest is chest was ripped open. Somebody cut these people up and took what they wanted. Without seeing the crime scene photos, we can't say how he looks inside, but if it's anything like our vic over there – Dean, whoever is doing this knows what they're doing."

"Okay, so we've got someone, or some _thing_ , harvesting body parts? But why dump the rest of a perfectly good body?"

"Maybe they only need certain parts," Sam suggested, offering up a simple shrug and pushing the body away again before stripping off his gloves.

"Kind of like a Doc Benton deal? One body part gives up and they find a replacement?"

"Or the Stynes." Sam didn't miss the way Dean went rigid as he brought up the name, or the way the eldest swallowed thickly.

"Yeah, well, the Stynes are…" And Dean slid his thumb across his neck, making a short cutting noise to further his unsaid point. Dead. At least the ones they knew of.

"I'm not saying it's them, but we can't rule them out, Dean. We don't know how far the Styne family tree goes, or who they passed their knowledge onto. We thought the Men of Letters were all out of commission until the Brits showed up."

Dean shook his head, in defeat more than dismissal, and raised his arms up briefly. "Fine, but next stop on this magical mystery tour is Hudson's Diner. If I have to listen to theories about the Stynes, then I need me some pie."

There were no objections from Sam, though he doubted he could face food whilst looking at crime scene photos. His stomach wasn't as strong as his brother's. When Jefferson returned with the copies of the files, with nothing else to discuss, they headed for a quick change out of their uniforms before making their way through town and toward Hudson's Diner.

For Sam, the diner was no different to many others they had entered before. Sure, they all had their little eccentricities, but small town diners like this tended to have a specific formula to them. Large booths around the room, with smaller tables dotted about, and an overly enthusiastic waitress welcoming them and telling them to sit wherever they like. For Sam, it was just another diner, but one look at the grin on his brother's face told him that for Dean, it was so much more. It was a memory, a piece of his childhood – a childhood they didn't have much of.

Dean claimed a booth by the window, and by the way he ran his fingers over the worn wooden table, Sam figured it mustn't have changed all that much. He also half wondered if this was the same booth Dean had chosen when they were younger. He could imagine that of his brother, soft and sentimental where it counted.

With a roll of his eyes, Sam pushed the menu across the table toward Dean, clearing space for his laptop. Once it was open, he barely even noticed the way Dean was eyeing up the pie on display near the register as if he hadn't eaten for a month.

"Okay," Sam started, tapping away at the keyboard, "what do we know about the Stynes?"

"They're a bunch of pompous dicks?" Dean offered up, before holding up a finger and looking to Sam. "Correction – they're a bunch of pompous _dead_ dicks."

Sam ignored the remark and continued to focus on the laptop screen. "I figure we look to see if any buildings or offices have been leased out in the last couple of months – paid in cash, to cover their tracks."

"Don't forget backwoods cabins too," Dean offered up, sitting back and spreading his arms out over the plush red seats, obviously enjoying the comfort they offered. "Last two victims were found out that way, so if it isn't the Stynes, maybe whoever it is, is holed up out there somewhere." He let go of a gruff sigh and leaned forward once more. "What about the victims? Do we have anything that links them yet? Something solid to work from?"

"Besides the usual wrong place, wrong time?" Sam huffed out with a shake of his head. So far he hadn't found any connection between them, but that didn't mean there wasn't one.

Any further comments from Dean were silenced by the approaching waitress, the elder Winchester's smile warm, reflecting hers – but Sam suspected it was more the thought of pie that brought the smile to his brother's face, considering the waitress was older than Dean's usual type by a good decade or two.

She was a plump woman, with a spring in her step and a notepad in her hand, and she wore her hair up in a loose bun, no doubt an attempt to tame the ruddy curls that still insisted on breaking free. Notepad and pen at the ready, she came to a stop at the edge of the table between them, beaming at the pair. It was then that Sam noticed the nametag and found himself half-smiling at the nostalgia written across Dean's face. So this was Dottie.

"Why hello there, and welcome to Hudson's Diner," she said, looking between the brothers. "What can I get you boys?"

"Just a salad and a water for me, thanks," Sam answered, offering up a polite smile.

The corners of her mouth curled up even further. "Oh honey, we don't do salad. Not unless it's in a burger or on the side."

"Make his a short stack," Dean supplied, refusing to meet the steady glare Sam sent his way. No, his attention was on the pie on the counter once more, licking at his lips in anticipation, a childish hunger to his eyes that had Sam relenting.

"Okay," Dottie said as she scribbled in the pad, "that's one short stack for the tall drink, and what about you, sweetie?"

Dean tore his gaze away from the pie and looked toward Dottie, his grin never fading. "What's the pie of the day?"

"Apple pie, with a little hint of something something to give it a little spice." She tapped her nose with her pen and winked, like it was a cheeky secret she half wanted to spill. "Fresh this morning, and I should know, I made it myself."

"I bet you did," Dean answered, voice full of cheer. He bobbed his head, decision made. "Then a slice of pie for me and a coffee, black."

Again, her pen moved across the notepad, smile still firmly on her face, but as she raised her gaze once more, her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed. "You know, I been thinking since the moment you boys walked in here that you two look mighty familiar? I just can't quite put my finger on it."

"Guess we've just got those faces," Dean supplied, with a shrug and a grin, one that was a rare sight to behold the more years passed by. Carefree, childish, unguarded. The pure innocence of the moment reflected in his eyes, amongst the wistful memories Sam could practically see shining through the hazel-green.

Dottie shook her head, her brow deepening until her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "Well, oh my goodness me!" She placed her hands on her hips and beamed at them, her smile so bright it was infectious. "Must have been years ago now? You boys were passing through here with your Daddy. Why, just look at the pair of you? No wonder I didn't recognise you." She pointed to Sam. "You were a skinny little thing, barely had any meat on your bones – I swear, a gust of wind coulda knocked you down, and now look at you." She paused, head tilted a little to the side as she turned her attention and words to Dean, as if just seeing him truly for the first time since they had entered the place. "And you, those eyes… those eyes and that devilish little smile of yours. I'd recognise those anywhere. You were in here near enough every day. 'Course, it probably had a lot to do with Connie, but I used to like to think it was my pie that kept bringing you back. If I remember, I believe you were particularly partial to my apple cinnamon."

"What can I say, Dottie? No woman is a patch on you and your pie." Dean leaned forward, head tilted to the side as he looked up at Dottie with a twinkling in his eyes. Sam merely rolled his eyes, attempting to hide the light chuckle that started at the back of his throat.

"Still the same charmer I see." Dottie breathed in deep, looking very much lost in yesteryears, before seemingly shaking away the memories a little, raising her pad and pen once more. "So one coffee, black, and a slice of pie, with extra cream, for old time's sake. I'll get that right up." She made to turn away, but stopped only long enough to look at Dean once more and add, "My boy, you grew up well."

There was no hiding the grin on Sam's face, he didn't even attempt to, simply raising an eyebrow at his brother as Dottie made her way back toward the counter. "I think you've got a fan."

"Oh shu-ut up," Dean groaned, drawing the words out as he rolled his eyes so excessively, his head rolled with them. Despite his cool exterior, Sam could see the subtle hints of embarrassment, the young boy that he once was shining through.

"And who's Connie? You never mentioned a Connie before."

Instead of answering though, Dean manoeuvred the laptop so it was fully facing Sam once more. "How about you focus on research, geek boy?"

Sam didn't argue or push the matter further, but that didn't stop the smile that still toyed across his lips. It stayed there well after Dottie returned with food and coffee, and it left a warmth in his chest that seemed to loosen it up. He hadn't even realised how constricted he had been feeling until that moment. After everything they had been through, with everything they dealt with daily, it was nice to have a nice, normal moment.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

There were many things in life that could make time stand still. A comfy seat and a piece, or two, of homemade pie were two of those things. Dean could have quite happily gotten lost in savouring the taste of each and every bite, if not for the conversation with Sam regarding mutilated bodies and different rituals that might involve certain body parts. It was enough to put a person off their food, but Dean was not your average person and he was used to such talks. He was also used to picking out suspicious looking people in a crowd, such as the older man in the corner of the diner.

Dean had noticed him as soon as the man had entered the diner. The dirty and dark coat that hung low and loose; the leather rucksack on his back, as worn and aged as the lines on the man's face and as shifty as the bright eyes that darted about the diner. He had scratched at the grey stubble on his chin and made his way toward the back corner of the diner with a mere grunt toward Dottie, and Dean didn't miss the flicker of recognition in the man's eyes when he glanced their way as he passed them by.

From the way he looked and moved to the way he pored over several bits of paper he had pulled from his rucksack, Dean had been in the business long enough to know the man was hiding something. Whether that something was as simple as an illicit affair from his wife, or something worse, that Dean couldn't know for certain.

He finished off his last bite of pie before pushing the plate away and dragging the coffee close, eyes flickering briefly to the man. "What do you make of Hooch in the corner?"

Sam didn't look up from the laptop. He didn't have to. Dean knew he wasn't the only one to take note of the man. "Could be a drifter."

Dean bobbed his head and took a sip of his coffee, which had long since passed cooling and was now practically cold. He pulled a face at it, but drank it all the same. Would be a shame to waste caffeine. "Could be."

"What are you thinking?" Sam asked, raising his gaze to meet Dean's.

"I think it's time to pay," Dean answered, and he slid out from the booth, pulling his wallet from his pocket as he did so, a smile settling onto his lips and his eyebrow arching.

Sam said nothing. They both knew what Dean meant. It didn't need expanding on. He was heading to the counter to question Dottie.

At first, the elder waitress was busy with others in the diner, but it didn't take her long to make her way toward the register where she rang up the bill with a cheer, reluctant at first when Dean told her to keep the change, but relenting when he insisted and took a seat upon the stool there.

"Well, it sure is nice to see you turned into a gentleman. I often wondered what had happened to you." She rested against the countertop and looked to him with her head cocked to the side, no doubt trying to figure him out. "Speaking of which, what brings you back here? And don't you dare say my pie because I know you'll be lying."

He let go of a light laugh as he slipped his wallet away, exchanging it for his FBI badge. It became a habit keeping it in his pocket whilst working, came in handy for occasions like this as he slipped it open on the counter before quickly folding it and putting it away again before the man in the corner could see. "I wish it was the pie, but sadly, I'm working."

She had glanced at his badge briefly and her face fell a little, losing some cheer. "You're here about them nasty murders."

He nodded. "Did you know any of the victims?"

"Honey, this is a small town. Everybody knows everybody here."

"Were any of them acting… strange? Before they were killed?"

Her lips thinned in thought and she shook her head. "Not that I know of, but you know who you should ask? Connie. Sadie was her niece, but they were more like sisters really. If there's anything to know, Connie will know it."

"Do you know where I can find her?"

Dottie pulled her notepad out from her apron and began jotting down an address, only pausing long enough to acknowledge the mysterious Hooch as he placed money down on the counter beside Dean with a heavy grunt before heading out the door. She shook her head but refocused on the address and pulled the paper free to hand to Dean. "She works at the school, but I imagine after the news this morning, you're more likely to find her at home."

"Thanks, Dottie," Dean answered, taking the paper with a nod and slipping it away into his pocket. His gaze trailed after Hooch and he cleared his throat, leaning forward a little and bobbing his head in the direction the man was heading off toward outside. "Hey, Dottie, one more thing – what's the deal with Grumpy McGrumplestin?"

She shook her head, her own gaze following the man until he was no longer visible. "I don't know."

"Oh come on, Dottie," Dean teased, a small smile working at his lips, "you said everyone knows everyone here."

"All's I know is he arrived in town about a month back and has been renting the place up near the old mill. He don't talk much and he's always got that bag with him, wherever he goes." She held her hands up, her eyebrows also raised. "Now, I'm not one to gossip, but I hear he's been sniffing about the woods and whatnot. You didn't hear it from me though."

Dean offered up a wink and another round of thanks before placing an extra note in the tip jar on the counter and heading back to Sam, who had packed up his notes and laptop and was just finishing up on his cell as Dean approached.

"Thank you, you've been a great help," Sam said into the phone before hanging up and turning to look at Dean.

"You find something?" Dean questioned.

"That was Beatrice at the real estate office in town. The only place rented out recently is out on the edge of town," Sam started.

"Let me guess," Dean interrupted, leading the way out of the diner and back towards the Impala, "near the old mill by chance?"

Sam nodded, hitching his bag further onto his shoulder. "Eddie Driscoll. Paid in cash up front for three months, but Beatrice said he had enough cash in a paper bag for a longer stay if needed."

"And Beatrice just told you all this free of charge?" Dean quipped, a sly smile settling onto his face as he wiggled his eyebrows at Sam.

But Sam rolled his eyes and let out a long huff. "I told her it was for a federal investigation, Dean."

"Still, that's pretty naughty, Sammy," Dean continued, "giving out that much information without a warrant. What did you promise her? Drinks? Dinner? A foot rub?"

"I simply told her that withholding information is a federal offence."

Dean let go of a laugh and shook his head. "Okay, Romeo, keep your secrets. Personally, me think the lady doth protest too much." But before Sam could interject further, Dean rested his arms against the roof of the Impala and looked over it to Sam, changing the subject. "So where next? Creepy drifter guy, or grieving aunt?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_We found our way to New Hope, Indiana. I would have kept on driving but one look in the backseat and I knew the boys needed a break. Dean is still pretty out of it. Other than the fever, he's holding up. He spent most of the day asleep whilst Sammy pretended to watch TV beside him. I can barely drag him away from Dean's side. I keep catching him, watching Dean with the same stillness and care I remember in you, Mary, when we first brought the boys home as babies._

_To tell the truth, I was no better, whenever you weren't looking. With both of them. They were so small, so fragile… and they're growing up so fast._

_I'll head for some more medication tomorrow for Dean, maybe call into the local police station too, find out what all those sirens earlier was about. I've got a pit in my stomach and it's telling me something is wrong. Maybe I should have kept on driving after all._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This chapter kind of ran away with itself a bit, but I hope you enjoy ^_^

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 3

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Oakland Grove was a small cul-de-sac of happy, normal houses with manicured lawns and white picket fences, and driveways filled with modern cars that gleamed and shone in the overhead sun. Dean could practically feel his skin crawling as he passed by each house, before finally coming to number seventeen, where he parked up and turned off the engine. Unlike the other houses, which were bright and cheerful, this house was dark and grieving. There was no mistaking that this was the home of Connie Williams, from the drawn curtains to the heavy atmosphere that hung over the house.

Climbing out of the Impala, he glanced at Sam over the roof and bobbed his head toward the neighbour approaching the house with the traditional plate of made up food that always seemed to make its way into people's houses when a loved one had died. Then his gaze landed on Connie at the doorway, her thick black locks of hair and soft gaze, igniting the memory of a young boy with a bashful smile and reddened cheeks and awkward fumbling fingers, making an order with the waitress who was a good few years older but also the sweetest thing in town, next to Dottie's pie.

"So remind me," Sam said, closing the passenger side door and looking out across the lawn, toward the two women as one returned home and the other closed the door to hers. "Connie Williams?"

"Our latest vic, Sadie – this is her aunt. As close as sisters according to Dottie. If there was anything strange going on before she died, Connie will know."

"And is that the only reason we're here?"

Dean burrowed his brow, a frown tugging at his lips as he looked to Sam. "Why else would we be here?"

"A chance to see an old flame?"

At that, Dean stalled, backtracking and thinking back to the diner and the brief conversation he had shut down with Sam. "Dude, we were- we were never…" He motioned over his shoulder toward the house before quickly glancing in that direction as well. "I was fourteen!"

"Dean, you started sneaking out to see girls before you even hit eighth grade." But then something crossed Sam's face, realisation clearly dawning on him with the widening of his eyes and dropping of his jaw. "Wait… are you saying she didn't even know you existed?"

"Shut up," Dean complained, turning away, suddenly uncomfortable in the suit he had donned. He felt more like a young boy trying to impress a girl for a prom than a professional hunter, pretending to be a professional lawman, on a very important and professional job.

"So you're telling me," Sam continued on, despite the rolling of Dean's eyes or the long huff he let out, "that there was a girl that didn't even know the 'great' Dean Winchester existed?"

"She was a senior, okay? Now drop it." Dean kept his gaze determinedly away from Sam, instead focusing on the door they were fast approaching, one hand raising ready to knock whilst the other dug into his pocket for his badge.

"That's adorable," Sam teased, a loose smile upon his lips, which only disappeared once Dean had knocked and the youngest was readying himself for business.

Connie was quick to open the door, cheeks flushed red and mouth already moving as if she had been about to tell whichever do-gooder neighbour that she was fine and had enough food in her kitchen to last the month out, and would they please just leave her alone in peace, but the frustrated and flustered look waned to be replaced by one of confusion as the woman stared out at the brothers, her words gone as her brow knitted together.

"Connie Williams?" Sam asked, both he and Dean holding their badges up as she nodded slowly.

"Agents Sullivan and Smith," Dean continued, motioning between him and Sam before putting his badge away. "Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

There was a battle going on her eyes, no doubt between wanting peace and wanting justice. She bit at her lip and looked behind into the house before nodding and stepping to the side enough to allow them to pass. "Sure, but please… keep your voices down. Celia has just fallen asleep upstairs and I really don't want to disturb her."

"And Celia is?" Dean questioned with a burrowed brow, glancing toward the staircase before looking back to Connie.

"Sadie's mom," Connie answered, as if it were obvious.

"Right." Sam bobbed his head and motioned toward a photo frame on display in the hallway – no doubt a picture of the three of them, Connie and Sadie both easily recognisable, despite the fact that Sam and Dean had only seen Sadie on the slab at the morgue, which meant the third person in the photo, with dark rimmed glasses, was Celia. "So you're a pretty close family?"

Connie nodded once more and led the way through to the kitchen where she began busying herself putting away food filled Tupperware boxes and glass dishes with foil over the tops. "You kind of have to be when you practically live in each other's pockets."

"I hear ya." Something between a chuckle and a huff slipped past Sam's lips, one corner of his mouth tugging upward just a little in a small smile of agreement. "Must be a pretty crowded house."

"No more than any other house." She shook her head, reaching out to open the fridge door with one hand and using the other to balance one of the glass dishes. Before the door could fully open, the dish slipped from her grip and landed with a smash on the hard kitchen floor. A loud curse escaped her and her hands flew up to cover her face.

Before she could make to bend down, Dean waved his hand in dismissal, lowering himself to the floor instead to clear up the mess. "Here, let me."

"Thank you," Connie breathed out and looked down to the floor as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "I'm sorry. I… Celia is normally the one with everything under control and I'm the one who leaves the sink full of dishes and cries over tubs of ice cream, and I'm trying so hard to be strong and I just…" But the words vanished and the tears appeared, slipping down her cheeks as she covered her mouth and shook her head.

Sam pulled a tissue out of nearby box and handed it to her, his eyes soft and head tilted to the side. "Breaking down doesn't make you any less strong. Losing someone you love… It can be unbearable."

She took the tissue and held it to her eyes. It was another moment before she had calmed enough to speak again, and by then Dean was just finishing up cleaning away the mess and wiping away burnt macaroni and cheese from his hands with a cloth. "You… er, you said you wanted to ask me some questions."

"Yes," Dean filled in, settling back beside Sam again, "Dottie from the diner, she said you and Sadie were close?"

Connie nodded. "I helped raise her. She was like the bratty little sister I never wanted."

"And have you noticed anything strange over the last month? Did Sadie mention anything to you? Did she start acting out of the ordinary, hanging out with anyone new? Anything that struck you as odd?"

"No, nothing." Connie took a breath and looked to them, her eyes imploring. "And she told me everything, like literally everything. From the tattoo she got on Spring Break to her first kiss behind the bleachers when she was like twelve."

"What was her eyesight like?" Sam questioned, earning himself a perplexed look from Connie and Dean alike.

"I'm sorry?" Connie asked, blinking, brow burrowing further. "What has that got to do with…"

"Trust me, it might not seem important but we have our reasons for asking."

"Sadie has-" She took a breath and closed her eyes before correcting herself. " _Had_ perfect vision. She took after her father like that. He was always the same – could spot a quarter falling to the ground, in the fog, from five streets away."

" _Was_?" Dean questioned, not failing to miss the past tense.

"Yes, Sadie's father - my brother – he, he was… he died a few months before she was born."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago," she answered, but the words were as hollow as her gaze, suggesting that despite the length of time, it was something she still dealt with daily, or perhaps the current situation was dredging up old memories she had long lain to rest. She shook her head, seemingly shaking away cobwebs as she did so. "Is there anything else you wanted to ask?"

Sam bobbed his head. "Yes… we were told they found Sadie near an old creek. Can you think of any reason why she would have been out there?"

"She was out running errands, she shouldn't have been anywhere near the old creek…"

"But?"

"But she has this old camera, and sometimes after dinner she likes to take photos. _Liked._ My God, I'm sorry… I just, I still can't believe this is happening. I keep expecting to see her walking through the door any moment. It's just like Josh all over again."

"And Josh is your brother?"

She nodded. "He was murdered, over twenty years ago… and now Sadie too?"

Dean breathed in at the words, meeting Sam's gaze, but it wasn't until they had finished up and thanked Connie for her time and were out of the house, approaching the Impala, that he spoke up, saying what he knew they both were thinking.

"Okay, so we've got dad murdered before the kid was born, and now the girl?" He stopped in his tracks, keys in hand, and looked to Sam. "Think they're related?"

"It's worth looking into." Sam pressed his lips together and offered up a slight shrug, but despite his hesitancy, they both knew there was no such thing as a coincidence. Enough years on the job had taught them that.

Dean scrubbed at his jaw, his gaze going distant, looking beyond Sam but not at anything in particular as he allowed his thoughts to wander, his feet pushing forward toward the Impala once more. "So we're looking at something that needs to what? _Eat_? Every however many years?"

"Or maybe it's a Doc Benton deal? Maybe whoever or whatever needs to replace body parts when the old ones wear out?" Sam supplied, his nose wrinkling as he followed Dean down the path.

"Speaking of," Dean continued, holding up a finger before using the same hand to hitch a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the house. "What was up with that question in there? About her eyesight?"

"Her eyes were missing, Dean. Whatever did this took them for a reason."

"Great," was all Dean said in reply, a low growl to his tone as he snapped his keys into the palm of his hand and came to a stop beside the Impala.

"Looks like this may be our kind of thing after all," Sam said, readying to climb into the passenger seat but pausing as Dean leaned against the roof of the Impala and looked across to him.

"You know, just once, it would be nice to work a nice simple job. I mean when was the last time we had a good old fashioned case, Sam? Casper the not so friendly ghost, or hell, a good old fashioned vampire? The kind that isn't all kinds of jacked up on angel juice or whatever it is Michael is pumping into these freaks…" Dean opened his hands in questioning, lips pursing. "Is that too much to ask?"

"We haven't had simple since… ever, Dean." Sam smiled a little and shook his head, snorting at Dean's shrug that clearly meant 'you have a point'. "I mean, look at our family history, man. We grew up with Dad dragging us all over the country."

"Yeah, about that…" Dean looked down at his hands, pausing a moment as his eyes absently traced the worn lines there. He clenched a fist and cleared his throat, doubting the very thoughts that circled around his brain. "Connie said her brother was killed over twenty years ago, right? You don't think Dad was here hunting this same thing, do you?"

"I don't know, Dean, I mean… could be?" Head tilted slightly to the side, Sam's careful and narrowed gaze wandered over Dean, making Dean feel even more foolish and uncomfortable than he already did. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"Nah, it's just… there's something about this place, something feels off, like there's this knot in my stomach." Dean chewed at his lip, attempting to keep his thoughts on track but unable to stop them from wandering back to when they had visited New Hope as children. It was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle filled with bright colours and pie and beautiful memories, but the more he looked, the more he saw some of the pieces were missing and the box was empty.

There was a look in Sam's eyes that suggested he felt the same, but whatever thoughts were going through his mind, he kept to himself for now, his tone instead taking on a hint of teasing. "Maybe it's all the pie you had. You should have stopped after the first slice."

"Hey! That second slice was on the house! It would have been rude to turn it down," Dean defended, pointing across the car to Sam, the cobwebs falling away from inside his mind, Sam's playful words bringing him fully back to the present and the job at hand. "Now, let's go find out what the deal is with our drifter friend."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The old mill on the outskirts of town had cabins nearby, each one more worse off than the last, but according to Sam's conversation with Beatrice from the real estate office, only one of those cabins was being rented out. It didn't take them long to find the small collection of cabins, and it took even less time to find the one Driscoll was currently inhabiting. They had parked up a little way down the dirt trail, far enough away that the guy wouldn't hear them coming but close enough to see the smoke rising from the chimney of one cabin.

They approached on foot with caution, sticking close to the shadows of the brush until they were a foot away from the rickety wooden porch. Dean pulled his gun from inside his jacket and motioned for Sam to circle around the cabin to the right whilst his feet were already taking him the opposite way. Sam bobbed his head, staying silent and pulling his own gun free as he made his way around the cabin, using the cover of darkness to check through what windows weren't covered by faded red curtains.

When he met Dean halfway around, he shrugged his shoulders in reply to the silent question posed by raised eyebrows and followed Dean's lead in putting his gun away and straightening up.

"No sign of him inside," Dean said, and whilst it wasn't said in a whisper, his tone of voice was still lowered enough so as not to attract unwanted attention.

"Seems that way," Sam answered, and they began making their way back around to the front of the cabin. "But you saw the truck up front. That's got to be his, so he can't be far."

"Makes you wonder where he's at so late in the day?" Dean took the steps up the porch first and jiggled the door handled. "Locked."

Sam merely snorted in reply and shook his head. He hadn't expected anything less and was already reaching into his coat for his lock pick tools. The lock was simple and they were inside in no time. He flicked on the lights and took in the interior of the cabin. Small and cosy, and a whole world of crazy. Papers were strewn about, laid across furniture, piled up on the kitchen counter and on the table in front of the fire, pinned up on walls and laid across furniture. Dean immediately made his way toward the table by the fire whilst Sam took the closest target – the papers on the kitchen counter.

He grabbed hold of a small pile and flicked through them. Print outs of newspaper reports and obituaries, but that in itself wasn't the strange thing. "Dean," he called, raising the papers up in his brothers direction, "check this out."

Dean's brow burrowed and his tongue snaked out to wet his bottom lip as he turned away from the table a moment, still holding a folder he had picked up. "What is it?"

"News articles," Sam explained, crossing the open space to come to stand in front of Dean as he went through the papers again. "' _Mysterious death shakes the town'_. ' _Bear attack leaves four dead'._ Or how about, ' _Captain of the football team suffers inexplicable heart attack'._ These articles date back decades. And the obits?" He swung one of the papers around and handed it to Dean, pointing at the names circled in red only to be crossed out in black. "This guy has been researching the town for years."

"Yeah, 'cause that's not suspicious," Dean answered, shaking his head, attention drawn to a yellowed piece of paper at the bottom of the pile in Sam's hand. He pulled it free and looked over it with scrutiny before holding it up for Sam to see. "These mean anything to you?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the paper, taking in the scribblings there. Some were written in black pen, some in red or blue, but they were all clearly written by the same hand, some crossed out, some underlined. Amongst the crossed out were the words 'nymph' and 'Likho', whilst several of the underlined included 'bodach' and 'green man'.

Realisation hit Sam and he took a breath, glancing around the room once more but this time taking in the compete chaos for what it is. "Dean…"

"Yeah, I see it," Dean answered, also looking around the room before meeting Sam's gaze, his eyebrows raised. "Either this guy has a seriously freaky hobby…"

"Or he's hunting the same thing as us." Sam pulled the paper from Dean's grip, looking over it more intensely now, taking in each word and scribbling. "I mean, these names here? Sors? Mammon? They're gods. And here," he pointed to the circled word at the bottom of the page, holding it out for Dean to see.

"Sacrifices?" Dean questioned the word, looking up from the folder in his hands to see what Sam was pointing out. "Sacrifices for what?"

But the distinct sound of a rifle being cocked had them both falling still and silent, the sound followed by a gruff and aged voice. "How about 'none of your damn business'?"

Dean cursed under his breath and Sam swallowed the thick lump in his throat, but they both did the same thing in that they raised their hands and slowly turned to face the open doorway and the man that stood there. Driscoll. He used his foot to close the door behind him, keeping both hands on the rifle as he kept it trained on them.

"Eddie, right?" Dean started, "Look, we're not here to do any harm. Funny thing, right? We were actually looking for you."

"Well here I am," Eddie answered, voice as cold and hard as the barrel of the gun he was holding onto tightly.

"Kind of makes me wonder where you were," Dean continued, "out late at night, alone… in the woods."

"Gathering firewood," was Eddie's quick response.

"And you always take a rifle with you to gather firewood?"

"What can I say? There's some damn dangerous things out there in the woods. But then, you'd know that, wouldn't you, _Dean_?"

Sam didn't miss the way his brother straightened beside him, or the way his jaw clenched, and Sam chose to take a step forward, his words placating, soft, as if speaking to a hungry bear and hoping something tastier looking came along soon to distract it. "So you know who we are? We're hunters, like you."

A harsh laugh escaped the older man's twisted lips. "I know who you are. Had you pegged soon as I saw you in the diner. Sam and Dean Winchester." Another harsh laugh, dry and humourless.

"Then you know we're hunting the same thing as you," Sam continued.

Eddie lowered his gun and shook his head. "You don't have the first clue what you're hunting. You're just grasping at straws, so how about you boys get out of town before you end up in over your heads?"

"Look," Dean spoke up, and it was his turn to take a step forward, his hands lowered, no longer attempting to pacify the possible madman with a gun in front of them, "you know who we are so you know we can't do that, and hey – hunters talk, so you should also know we've dealt with a hell of a lot worse than whatever's going on in this town. We've been in the game long enough to know our way around a simple milk run."

Driscoll stalked forward, purpose in each step, until he was right up in Dean's face, glaring up at him. "Yeah, _Boy_ , I know who you are and you're right – hunters do talk, and you wouldn't believe the things they say about you, what you've done – or rather, the you that wasn't… you, if you catch my drift. So why won't you do us all a favour and drag your angel leftovers out of town to let the big boys deal with the mess you helped create?"

Sam reached out, placing a calming hand on his brother's shoulder, tightening his grip until he felt some of the tension leaving Dean. Michael was too recent to not be a sore subject for him, the anger radiating from the eldest aimed inward as well as toward the hunter before them. But that was always the way with Dean. He blamed himself for everything, and he would even find a reason to blame himself for this hunt if Sam let him.

"We're just here to help," Sam tried, but Eddie wasn't budging, the shorter and older hunter happily squaring off against the pair of them.

"Well, I can tell you one thing," Eddie said, stepping to the side and motioning the doorway, indicating that the conversation was over, "I don't need no help from the Winchesters. So how about you leave town before you mess things up, like I hear you're good at."

And though they had no intention of leaving town, they did leave the cabin. Even if there was anything useful for them there, Driscoll wasn't talking and he sure as hell wasn't sharing. They made it all the way to the Impala before Dean pulled a familiar looking folder from the inside of his jacket and passed it to Sam over the roof.

"You ask me, our friend Eddie is hiding something."

"No kidding," Sam scoffed, flipping the file open to peer down at the name inside, his eyes quickly flickering up to meet Dean's once he had. "This is…"

"Josh Williams' file. It was on a pile with others on the table," Dean continued, motioning back toward the cabin with his head. "See what else it says?"

Sam peered down at the pages once more but didn't get the chance to speak before Dean answered his own question.

"Dude was missing his…" He coughed and motioned downward on his own person. "Missing his…"

Sam pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes on Dean - who was still struggling to voice what Williams had been missing - before reading further down the page, the words written there causing him to clench his teeth and wince in sympathy. "Ouch… That's erm… that's…"

"Tell me about it," Dean answered, opening his door ready to climb in. "You know what this means, right?"

Sam nodded his head in response. "This isn't the first time this had happened."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_The boys are climbing the walls. Dean's been on bed rest for a week. Still didn't stop him from trying to sneak out of the apartment twice now. The fever broke by Tuesday, but I want to make sure he's alright. I've spent so much time putting so much responsibility on him, training him, drilling it into him that he needs to look after Sammy, that I don't think he knows how to look after himself first anymore. And Sammy, I think the kid's already read the bookshelf full of books left over from the previous tenant. I think I'll give them a break tomorrow, from being cooped up. There's a diner in town they'll like, I'll drop them off there while I get to business._

_I should stay with them, but bodies have been turning up and I hate to say it, but it's definitely our kind of thing. Normally I'd bring Dean in on it, hell, even Sammy now he's old enough to understand, but not this time. Not after the Kappa. Dean needs a break. And God help me, Mary, I know I should just get the car and drive away, get myself and the boys out of town, just this once, but I can't._

_You don't walk away from a hunt. You can't._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and commenting!

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 4

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

By early the next morning, when Sam woke, he had expected to find his brother still passed out on his bed wearing the clothes from the night before – exhaustion having taken its toll. But whilst there were some signs that suggested Dean had slept, he certainly wasn't sleeping anymore. In fact, he wasn't even in the motel room anymore.

Sam padded across the floor until he came to the table and the note that sat there. Scrubbing a hand across his face and letting go of a yawn, he took in the quickly scribbled 'gone for supplies' and let go of a scoff. Supplies meant food and coffee, which wasn't unlike Dean. Dean being awake before Sam, however? That was what struck Sam as strange.

Since starting the case, there was a look in Dean's eye that wasn't related to recent events involving Michael. No, it was like he was trying to figure something out or remember something long forgotten, a memory long pushed down in favour of others. Sam knew the look and knew the feeling, because he felt the same way. It was a persistent itch that told him, somewhere in the back of his mind, there was something buried that would have everything clicking into place.

That was why, when Dean did return with his arms laden with food and coffee, Sam was sat at the table with John's journal in his hands and a narrowed gaze as he scrutinised it.

"What you got there?" Dean questioned, raising his head and motioning with his chin toward the book in Sam's hands. He dropped the keys to the Impala on the small shelf near the doorway and closed the door with his foot.

Sam held up the book, letting go of a breath and blinking his eyes a couple of times before focusing on his brother. "Dad's journal."

"Huh," Dean said in reply, pursing his lips and offering up a shrug as he approached the table. "Find anything?"

"Nothing," Sam answered. He pushed back from the table a little and sat up straighter, taking the opportunity to roll some of the kinks out of his stiffened shoulders. "And I've been through it back to front. Dad doesn't even mention of New Hope."

"I'm telling you, Sam, something ain't right." Dean placed the bag he was holding in one hand on the table, and balanced the coffees in the other until he was steady enough to do the same with them. Once both hands were free, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a folder. "Couldn't get it out of my head after seeing Williams' file last night so I took a detour while I was out getting food and picked these up."

He held out the folder for Sam to take, waiting patiently for Sam to open it up and flick through the photocopied papers inside.

"These are from '93," Sam filled in, with a burrowed brow.

"Same as Josh Williams," Dean added, before returning his attention to the bag of food and starting to unpack it. "Check the month."

Sam's frown deepened. "July…"

"Right about the time we would have been in town with Dad."

"But these murders, they're just like the ones now. There's no way Dad would have missed that."

"So either he got sloppy," Dean supplied, which they both knew was impossible. Not John Winchester.

"Or we're missing something," Sam finished, shaking his head at the file and the papers within it.

Dean bobbed his head in agreement and paused in his movement with his hand wrapped around a plastic box that Sam could already see contained pie. "You know, I just don't get it. If he was on a hunt, why keep it from us? He was already taking us out, training us up."

"Yeah, because Dad was so forthcoming with information like that." Sam raised an eyebrow, his tone dry, the thick sarcasm causing Dean to roll his eyes in response.

"Okay, I get it, the guy had his secrets but this case… I don't know, I've just got a bad feeling." Even as he said it, he was lifting the lid from the pie and searching the bag for a fork.

Sam's lips hitched up into a half smile at the sight of it, and he bobbed his head in Dean's direction. "Yeah, I can see it's really affected your appetite."

"Dude, it's pie – I'm not gonna turn down perfectly good pie."

Sam snorted and shook his head a little, but his attention was soon caught by the light vibration and beep from his cell on the table beside him. He picked it up and let go of a breath, already pushing away from his seat before the next words left his mouth. "Well, it looks like it will have to wait until later. They found another body."

"What?" Dean questioned, his movements paused once more as he stilled mid-motion, about to cut through the pie, his eyes widening and taking on a sheen similar to that of a child who had just had their lollipop stolen by the Grinch.

"I set up an alert system on my phone," Sam explained, holding his phone up for Dean to see before pocketing it and moving off to grab his jacket. "Anytime something pings up in the system, like a dead body, it lets me know."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, it was really simple actually, I just needed to get access to the online databa-"

Dean waved a dismissive hand, silencing Sam, his face turning sour as he closed the lid on the pie and moved to snatch up the keys for the Impala. "Let's just get this over with, so I can get back to my breakfast."

"You mean get back to your pie."

Dean simply glared, grabbing one of the coffees from the table for on to the go. "And the difference is?"

"I'm just saying, I don't think pie is exactly the healthiest breakfast option."

"You say that like I care?"

The bickering continued on, even as they left the motel and climbed into the Impala, both brothers barely missing a beat at their familiar song and dance routine. Sam would have dropped the matter, but the stubbornness in him couldn't let it go.

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to eat an apple once in a while, Dean."

"There's apple in my pie."

"And about a billion other things that are bad for you."

"Says the guy that views kale as a food group."

"What's wrong with kale?"

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam and turned the engine over before answering. "It's a garnish, Sam. A garnish."

"It's good for you."

"So is my pie."

Sinking in his seat, Sam let go of a breath. It was going to be a long drive.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The newest body had been found on the outskirts of the woods, the crime scene so fresh that officers were still setting things up and ensuring the tape cordoning off the area was tight and secure. Dean's eyes wandered over the scene as he pulled up, taking in the little details here and there, from the morbidly curious bystanders that just so happened to be in the same area as the crime scene, along a remote stretch of road by the woods, to the officers standing by a plain sheet, coffees in hand and looking more than a little flummoxed by the whole situation.

Luckily, Dean noted, as he switched off the engine and pulled himself from the Impala, there was no sign of the coroner or any morgue technicians as of yet, which meant the FBI badges already out and ready in their hands, would be a good enough cover for gathering information. If this body was anything like the ones they had seen the day before, and Dean had no doubt it would be, then Game Warden wasn't going to cut it.

A young rookie, who looked ashen and sickly, held up a hand as they approached, but was quick to raise the tape and let them pass under once they flashed their badges. From there, they headed to the two officers by the sheet, which definitely had a body-like shape beneath it.

"Can I help you?" the older officer questioned, turning to face the pair with raised eyebrows and a stoic look on his face that suggested they best make it quick because he was fast losing patience with the whole situation.

"Agents Sullivan and Smith," Dean said, holding up his badge a moment longer before slipping it away.

The officer looked them up and down. "You don't look much like FBI to me."

Sam snorted and offered up a polite smile, pocketing his own badge. "We were caught off guard. We didn't expect another body to turn up so soon."

"But you did expect one?" The man narrowed his eyes and looked between the pair of them. If he had any other suspicions, he kept them to himself.

"You mean you didn't?" Dean challenged, and the man said nothing in reply, but turned his gaze away enough to suggest he had, despite maybe hoping there wouldn't be one.

"Mind if I take a look?" Sam motioned to the body, and the younger officer glanced toward her superior, and upon a brief nod from the older man, lowered herself to pull the sheet back.

Whilst Sam busied himself with the body, Dean focused on the two officers, pulling out a pad and pen from his pocket. "Has the victim been identified yet?"

"Bert Newman, poor son of a bitch… Looks like he never saw it coming." The older officer scrubbed a hand over his face before glancing down at the dead man Sam was currently looking over. "Still, probably better than what was coming to him."

It was Dean's turn to narrow his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"He just got diagnosed with leukaemia. Stage four, but the doctors reckoned he wouldn't live through the next year. I guess they were right."

"You seem to know an awful lot about him already…"

"We were drinking buddies," the officer answered with a growl, clearly not appreciating any possible accusation written in Dean's words or expression. "Besides, it's a-"

"Small town," Sam finished for him, pushing up and away from the body and dusting himself off. "Yeah, we've heard."

"We gonna have a problem here gentlemen? Because I got to say, I don't appreciate the feds coming down and trying to take over when I ain't even asked for their help."

"No, no problem," Sam placated. "If anything, we need your help. You see, we came here chasing a lead for a killer we've been hunting since some pretty nasty business in New Orleans." The lie slipped so easily from his tongue, and it never ceased to amaze Dean how well Sam fit into the role of FBI agent. Even without the suit, he played the part so well that it scared Dean sometimes. "I couldn't see any signs of struggles on the body. Has anyone picked up on any blood trails to suggest that something was maybe taken?"

"You mean like the others?" the female officer questioned, her voice meek in a way that suggested the very idea horrified her.

Sam merely nodded in reply.

"Well," the older officer answered, voice dripping with sarcasm so thickly that Dean could practically feel it rolling over him, "nothing has turned up yet, but when the coroner performs the autopsy, I'll make sure you boys are the _first_ to know the results."

Dean would have reacted and rose to the bait, had he not been distracted by the familiar face in the crowd of bystanders down from the crime scene, the familiar dirty coat turning away a moment later. Dean nudged Sam with his elbow and made a brief motion to the crowd, knowing Sam would spot Driscoll also.

"We would appreciate any help you can give us," Sam spoke up, so polite he almost sounded sincere as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a business card to hand to the officers. "Thank you."

Dean was already making his way toward the crowd, catching up with Driscoll just as the older hunter was about to enter his truck. In a swift move, Dean reached out and pushed the door closed before Driscoll could make any attempt to climb inside.

"Heya, Eddie!" Dean greeted, false cheer seeping through his false smile.

Eddie grunted and scowled at him before glancing behind to where Dean felt Sam's presence arrive. "I thought I told you to leave town."

"You know we can't do that, Eddie," Dean continued, before narrowing his eyes on the elder hunter. "How'd you find out about the body?"

"I have my ways," Driscoll answered, but the faint chatter and static of a police radio inside the truck gave him away and Dean pulled back a little, no longer holding the door closed.

Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder, the intention clear. Being aggressive was getting them nowhere, not that Dean believed playing nice with the man would do them much better. For whatever reason, Driscoll had decided he didn't like them and it came off of him in waves, which, in turn, only served to increase Dean's own dislike of the man.

But, he reigned himself in and took a figurative step back, allowing Sam to proceed. Good cop, bad cop.

"We're all here hunting the same thing, so we might as well work together," Sam tried. "Look, we already know this isn't the first time this thing has been on a spree, but if we pool together, we can get it before it drops off the map."

Driscoll scoffed. "You think you have things figured out? You have no idea. I've been waiting years for this to show its face again."

"And why is that?" Dean questioned, unable to stop the hostility dripping through on each word. "Did it murder your pet rabbit all the way back in '93?"

"If you must know, I owe someone a favour. A hunter. And me killing this thing, this will even us out once and for all."

"Good friend?"

"Good hunter, not the type you want to be 'friends' with… but he saved my ass and I owe him one."

"We know the type," Sam answered, but his voice was tight in such a way that had Dean knowing the same name and face had just crossed his little brother's mind.

The infamous John Winchester.

"From what I hear, you _are_ the type," was Driscoll's quip in return.

Dean clenched his jaw, but instead of retaliating, he reached passed Driscoll for the door handle to the truck and opened the door with a sharp tug, the message clear. They were done, and it was clear by the irritated look in Driscoll's eyes that he was too.

Driscoll grabbed the door from Dean's grip, but decided to leave just a few more parting words before climbing in. "Like I said yesterday, you should really think about leaving town 'fore you mess things up."

With that, the door was closed and he turned his engine over. It wasn't until he had pulled away and the truck was well on its way that Dean managed to shake the antsy feeling that had set him on edge upon seeing the guy.

He pointed to the disappearing truck and looked to Sam. "I really don't like that guy."

"Well, I don't think he likes us much either, Dean," Sam scoffed, with a faint smile and light shake of his head.

Dean rolled his eyes and pushed away further thoughts of Driscoll in favour of looking Sam up and down, taking note of small flower in his brother's hand. "You find something?"

"Nothing to suggest it's linked to the others, but I found this stuck in the vic's collar." He held the red flower up and twisted it from the stem between his thumb and forefinger, his brow burrowed. "I'm thinking either the killer was disturbed, or something went wrong."

"Great," Dean answered, the word short and clipped, a dry growl. His gaze moved off down the road that Driscoll and his truck had disappeared down, his mind wandering with it. "Kind of makes you wonder what our overly friendly hunter is keeping from us, such as where he was last night with that rife of his."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_I had to make a few calls about this one. At first I was thinking it was a Doc Benton copycat, what with the missing body parts, but now I'm not so sure. Whatever it is, it's smart and it knows what it's doing. Another body turned up yesterday morning with parts missing that have no right being missing. Is it a ritual of some kind? I've got Caleb working on a few leads; hopefully he'll get back to me before anyone else dies._

_The boys are getting suspicious. Sam barely even tries to hide it. He's not even a teenager yet but he's already got all the attitude. Even so, it's Dean I have to watch. I can feel his eyes on me, but when I turn around, he's got his head in a book. Doesn't matter he's been on the same page for an hour at a time – he thinks I haven't noticed. But then I'm just as foolish for believing, no – hoping, he wouldn't know something was going on._

_All I can say is thank the Lord for his new love. I don't know if it's the girl or the pie, but he keeps asking to go back to that diner in town. How can I say no? At least it keeps him distracted and when he's stuffing his face with pie, he's not trying to read my notes over my shoulder or giving me the side-eye._

_You used to make us pie, Mary. I think he misses that. He misses you. We all do._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More soon...


	5. Chapter 5

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 5

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Coffee cup warm against Dean's palm, he dropped down into the seat across from Sam at the table and let go of a grunt. He placed a second cup beside the laptop his brother worked so hard at – the youngest's brow knitted together and gaze narrowed on the screen as the his fingers hovered over the keys and touchpad. Dean raised an eyebrow and nursed his coffee a moment longer but said nothing to break into Sam's concentration.

Instead, he placed his own cup on the table and scrubbed at his jaw with the palm of his hand as his own attention went back to the open journal on the table in front of him. Whilst Sam had been searching for information on the flower since they had returned to the room, Dean chose to delve into their dad's journal once more. It irked him, the feeling twisting up his stomach, the strange familiarity of the situation. It wasn't anything concrete, just the little things – like the red flower that Sam reached out to touch every so often, and the victims from back in '93, whose files sat in the folder beside the journal.

Dean picked up the journal once more, flipping back and forth through the pages until he came to a late entry in June '93. It described a new case involving what John believed to be a water sprite and continued into great detail about what he had learned of water sprites and how to deal with them. Dean shook his head, a small smile playing on his face as he remembered. It had been a kappa, not a water sprite, and Dean had been the one to take its head clean off, bringing its killing spree to an end.

He was so lost in the memory that he almost missed the way the last sentence of the entry cut off midway. With narrowed eyes, he looked between the pages, scrutinising each word. The sentence flowed awkwardly from one page to the other, but what really caught Dean's eye was how the journal went on to talk about a ghost in Kentucky, which had ended up being a teenage prank.

Kentucky had happened late August. Whilst he didn't remember the details, he remembered that much.

He narrowed his eyes on the pages and ran his fingers over the paper, feeling the small indentations on the right page. An impression of whatever had been written on the previous page, or so Dean hoped. In the next moment, he was pushing up from his chair and headed to the motel stationery on one of the bedside cabinets.

"What is it?" Sam questioned, looking up from the laptop, curiosity written across his features.

"There are pages missing," Dean answered without missing a beat, only looking up when he managed to find a short and stubby pencil in amongst the stationery. He held it up, a triumphant smile flitting across his face before he returned to the table. Rather than taking his seat, he leaned over the book and focused once more until he found the indentations that had caught his attention.

"Why would Dad take the pages out?" Sam questioned, his own task abandoned as he watched Dean.

Dean looked up at him a moment with a deadened expression and raised eyebrows, his mind heading back to another time they had discovered that John had removed pages – to Adam who got to go to a baseball game for his birthday, and who got to know a John Winchester Dean hadn't known since Mary had died… and who had been slaughtered because he was a Winchester and that in itself was a curse.

"Wouldn't exactly be the first time, Sam." He lowered his gaze once more, shaking the thoughts from his mind. Instead he focused on using the pencil to rub against the page in hope of picking up something readable. Something they could use. "Maybe something happened and Dad wanted to forget about it."

Sam leaned forward a little, focused on the page as Dean worked. "Or he wanted to keep it from us."

Dean said nothing further on it, instead spinning the book around and pointing at the barely legible word there. Yucca. "That mean anything to you?"

Pursing his lips, Sam shook his head, but in another moment, his fingers were working at the keyboard of his laptop, no doubt searching the internet for enlightenment. It was barely a minute later before he let out a loud breath, his jaw working. "Well, you were right."

He turned the laptop around to face Dean, an image of a plant in the centre window. A plant that had the same red flowers as the one Sam pushed across the table toward Dean, the youngest's eyebrow raised in questioning.

"So Dad was working a case," Dean answered as he looked between the picture and the flower. He lowered himself down into his chair once more and pushed the journal to the side for the moment in favour of the folder with the case files inside. "Which means if we want to know what happened last time, we need to follow the same breadcrumbs as him."

He pulled his coffee close once more and took a sip, testing the warmth of it before taking a longer drink and setting it back down on the table. It was going to be a long day of research and he could already feel the tension building up behind his eyes. Flicking open the folding, he let go of a breath and lifted the first sheet up, widening his eyes and blinking a couple of times before starting on his task of finding some kind of clue amongst the old cases.

For awhile, the only sounds came from the turning of pages and the tapping of keys, both Sam and Dean focused on their individual tasks. Dean's coffee was gone before he even reached halfway through the folder, page after page of the same thing. Difference victims, same MO. Each found dead, in a remote part of the woods, each believed to be caught off guard or somehow drugged, and each one had something different missing. So far there was nothing there that they didn't already know. He was on the last page of the file – an assault report where the victim had survived – when Sam cleared his throat loudly before sitting a little straighter.

"So this Yucca plant?" the youngest started, raising his eyes a moment to meet Dean's before looking back to the screen. "Turns out it can be used in spells for transmutation and purification."

"Transmu-what?" Dean questioned, stilling in his own research and focusing solely on Sam, his lips pursed around the word that stumbled him.

"Transmutation," Sam repeated. "Changing one thing into another."

"That sounds vaguely dirty, and horrifying," Dean added, pulling a face as his mind wandered. "Kind of like Jeff Goldblum in the Fly?"

"Gross, but yeah," Sam agreed, his knitted brow telling how he would have preferred to have a less disturbing image crossing his mind in that moment. "Anyway, it explains why the latest vic didn't appear to have anything missing."

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it, before letting go of a breath and opening it again. "Yeah, no - I'm not following."

"Sadie had perfect vision and our killer took her eyes. But Bert, he had leukaemia, right? Well, maybe once they killed him, they realised his body was beyond purifying?"

"So whatever is doing this is only taking what it sees as perfect?"

Sam shrugged, but bobbed his head in agreement. "It seems that way."

"Why?"

At that Sam paused, his gaze flickering to the cell phone on the table beside him. He didn't even need to say his next words, Dean could tell before they even left his mouth. "We should call her, she might have seen this before."

"No." Dean shook his head with force and splayed his hands out in front of him. "Because if we call her, then that means we're admitting this is witches, and I _hate_ witches."

"I don't think we really have a choice, Dean," Sam continued, and he was already dialling the number, much to Dean's chagrin. "She knows way more about this stuff than we ever will."

Sam turned on speakerphone and the held the phone out between them, offering up a helpless smile as Dean glared at both him and the cell. It rang, and it rang, and it rang, and Dean imagined Rowena to be staring at her own phone with boredom written across her features, deliberately taking her sweet time to answer, and when she did, the same sentiment echoed through her bored and irritated tone.

"Samuel," Rowena greeted, "I hope this is important. I am an extremely busy person with busy… business to attend to."

"Hey, Rowena," Sam answered, rolling his eyes a little but clearly keeping his own impatience in check, "I'm with Dean and we could really use your advice on a case we're working on."

"What is it this time? Did you stumble across a coven of witches that decided to turn that brother of yours into a cute little bunny rabbit, or perhaps something more exciting? Is it another love spell?"

"Hey! I'm right here!" Dean protested. "No spells."

"Yet," Rowena added with a chirp.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm just saying, you have a penchant for… how shall I say? Getting yourself cursed."

Sam cleared his throat, loudly, like an irritated parent watching over two squabbling children. "So, the case…"

"Yes, my dear boy, the case." The smile was clear on her voice, the teasing still there also.

"What do you know about spells involving yucca and missing body parts?"

She made a sound of disgust. "Well, that certainly sound gruesome. Sounds like something a bodach would be involved in."

"A what?" Dean questioned, eyebrows rising at the word.

"A bodach," Rowena began to explain. "It goes back centuries, to the days when witches were known as hags or crones – terms which, by the way, I find highly offensive. I mean, hag? Really? Do I look like a hag to you?"

"You don't look a day over two-hundred," Dean teased, snorting at the scoff he received in return.

"It's not easy, you know, maintaining such youthful and good looks. It takes years of practice and good, strong magic."

"Not to mention a few dead rabbits too, I'm guessing?"

"Don't' be naive, my sweet boy," she answered with a tut before giving a momentary pause and going on to add, "It's not always rabbits. Sometimes it's kittens, or mere infants. Not that I would ever partake in such barbaric means."

"Bodachs," Sam interrupted loudly on a long and frustrated breath, his gaze hard as he glared at Dean. "You were saying…"

"Oh yes," Rowena said, coughing lightly before righting herself. "They're your male versions of hags, so to speak. Miserly old men with magic." She drew the words out on a low tone, distaste dripping off of each one. "They like to think of themselves as tricksters but their magic is less about trickery and more about spreading misery and gloom."

Sam bobbed his head, clearly somewhat lost in thought. "That list in Eddie's cabin, it mentioned bodachs. Could be a lead."

Dean nodded, knowing his brother was right, even though he was reluctant to spend any more time chasing down the hunter that disliked them both so much. He licked his lips and focused on the phone and Rowena once more. "What would a bodach want with body parts, Rowena?"

"It could be any number of reasons," she answered. "Without knowing the rest of the spell or the ingredients, I couldn't say for sure."

"What about if we told you they're only taking 'perfect' parts?"

A moment's pause. "That could narrow it down, but it would take me some time to figure out what kind of spell you're up against."

"Thanks, Rowena," Sam continued before saying his goodbyes and hanging up, turning his attention to Dean. "We should speak to Eddie, try and see if we can get anything else out of him."

Dean lowered his gaze to the folder in front of him and pursed his lips as his eyes went over the words written there, taking in the name on the report in front of him. "Yeah, you do that."

"And what are you going to do?"

Dean turned the folder around and pointed at the page. "Turns out there was a survivor last time."

"Hudson McLaren?" Sam questioned, narrowed eyes rising to meet Dean's. "As in…"

"Hudson's Diner," Dean answered, "ran by husband and wife team, Hudson and Dottie McLaren." He closed the folder and grinned at Sam. "Guess it's time for another slice of pie."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Given that the diner was a reasonable walk away from the motel, Dean had tossed the keys to the Impala in Sam's direction, giving him reluctant permission to drive her on out to Eddie's cabin. Of course, he had also pointed his finger at Sam in warning, telling him to treat her right. In response, Sam had merely rolled his eyes, pocketing the keys and heading out the door.

Unlike the day before, Sam didn't bother with parking down the way, out of sight. Instead, he allowed the rumble of the engine to announce his arrival as he pulled up beside the truck and eyed the cabin ahead. The lights were on and, judging by the smoke rising out through the chimney, the fire was burning bright once more too. He pulled himself from the Impala and rolled his shoulders, setting his back straight and holding his chin high, determination taking hold.

He was there for answers, and he wasn't leaving until he had them.

The dirt muffled his footsteps, but they were loud and clear on the wooden planks of the porch leading up to the doorway. He was hardly surprised, when he raised a hand to knock against the door, that Eddie was there ready, swinging it open with a snarl on his face and his rifle loose in his grip.

"You boys just can't leave well enough alone, can you?" he growled, eyeing Sam before stepping to the side, allowing him enough room to pass into the cabin. There was something in his eyes and the way his shoulders sank back. Defeat. Reluctant acceptance.

"We're not that smart," Sam answered, slipping passed the man and into the cabin, his gaze wandering over the inside and taking it all in once more – allowing himself more time to process the little details here and there. The half eaten sandwich on the table in front of the fire, the books open at marked pages beside it, curtains all drawn, despite it being daylight outside.

"That's the type of attitude that'll get you killed." Eddie looked back and out the door, his grip still on the handle before looking back to Sam. "Where's your brother?"

"He's following up another lead."

If Sam didn't know any better, he would say that the hunter looked more frustrated by Dean's absence than his presence and he swore he heard a light curse as the man closed the door and leaned the rifle against the wall beside it. "Another lead, huh? So what does that make me then? The first lead?"

Sam's mouth quirked up in the corner and he tilted his head to the side a little. "You tell me."

"Look, boy," Eddie started, "I got nothing for ya. So why don't you go and grab that brother of yours and get on out of town?"

"Why?" Sam asked, taking a step forward, his gaze narrowed. "Why are you so eager to run us out of town?"

"'Cause I don't want you screwing up my hunt, that's why."

A light shake of his head, and Sam looked around the cabin once more, taking a deep breath. "That's bull and you know it."

"What did you say?" Eddie challenged, the growl a front – all that anger, that frustration. Sam could see now, it was all a front.

"You heard me," Sam said, and he focused once more on the man, looking him up and down. "You're hiding something, and I want to know what it is."

Eddie screwed up his face and turned away but said nothing. He remained silent all the while as he headed toward the open kitchen area and pulled the fridge door open.

"The hunter that saved your ass, it was our dad, wasn't it? He's the reason you're here."

"And what's it to ya?" Eddie asked, grabbing a beer from the fridge and turning around to consider Sam once more. Lying must have been thirsty work for the guy.

"I want to know why he told you about this hunt and not us. I want to know why you've been trying to drive us away, and don't feed me that crap about being pissed about Michael. It's more than that."

Eddie lowered his head, his jaw working. He let go of a breath and looked at the beer before letting go of a long breath and placing the beer back in the fridge, abandoning it. Instead, he reached for a bottle of whiskey on the counter, obviously deciding he needed something stronger. Before he opened it though, he moved forward toward his bag and pulled several pieces of paper from it. It was only when he handed the papers to Sam that he finally opened the bottle and poured himself a healthy portion into a glass.

Sam looked down at the papers as Eddie took a look swig of the whiskey, instantly recognising the pages for what they were. They were the missing entries from his father's journal.

"I thought if I gave you enough hassle," Eddie said after another long drink, "you'd just leave town."

"Why?" Sam questioned, flipping through the pages but only taking in odd words here and there.

"I promised your daddy I would finish it, so you boys wouldn't have to get involved."

"Finish it?" Sam asked, and his gaze was on Eddie once more. "Finish what?"

"The body parts that they're taking, they're building something. The perfect host."

"Host? For what?"

Eddie shrugged. "Your daddy never did find that part out."

"But what's this got to do with me and Dean?"

"Think about it, boy," Eddie growled out, placing his glass down hard as he looked up at Sam. "I ain't no expert, but rumour has it Michael didn't just choose your brother at random."

"He's Michael's true vessel," Sam confessed, the words sounding as hollow as the inside of his chest was beginning to feel.

His hands gripped the pages of his father's journal tightly. He barely dared looked down at them, realisation taking hold, but when he did, his gaze was drawn to the simplest of entries. Three ink-smudged and haunting words stared up at him, scrawled across the paper in a hurry. If that alone wasn't enough to set Sam's heart thudding inside his chest at the implication, Eddie's next words certainly pushed it over the edge.

"True vessel, huh?" Eddie repeated on a scoff, a sardonic smile playing at his lips as he raised his glass to Sam. "Don't exactly get much more perfect a host than a true vessel of an archangel."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_Dean is missing._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	6. Chapter 6

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 6

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Even as Dean approached Hudson's Diner, he could see how quiet it was, but it wasn't until he pushed on through the door that he realised it was downright empty. Door open in his grasp, he looked down to the 'closed' sign that swung lightly, tapping against the glass, before allowing his gaze to roam the small interior. Dottie looked up from the counter top she was wiping beside the cash register and tilted her head to the side, offering up a beaming smile.

"Heya, Dottie," he said, taking her warm smile as an invitation to move further into the diner and toward the counter, the door swinging closed behind him. "Shutting up early tonight?"

"Family tradition," she answered, pushing the cloth into the large front pocket of her apron and motioning for Dean to take a seat at the counter. "This time of the month, we like to head up into the woods to watch the moon and the stars."

"You're not worried about going out there? What with the murders…?"

She shook her head. "Jasper would never forgive us. We do it for him."

"Jasper?" Dean questioned, sliding onto one of the stools and tilting his head to the side as he listened.

"My son. He used to love the night sky." She lowered her gaze and let go of a low breath. "He was a beautiful boy – taken from us far too soon. The frailty of health I'm afraid, and back in those days, the doctors didn't know what they do now."

Dean cleared his throat a little and lowered his head. "I'm sorry. That must have been… terrible."

"It was a long time ago." She smiled sadly and wiped her hands on her apron before patting the top of his hands lightly, as if she were comforting him for a loss rather than the other way around. "Anyway, can I offer you a slice of pie? It's cherry. Made it special this afternoon, just for you."

"I thought you were closed," Dean answered, hitching a thumb over his shoulder and at the sign.

Dottie tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows. "Not for my favourite customer."

"I really shouldn't," he tried, but his eyes were already on the pie she brought up from behind the counter, his tongue already snaking out to dampen his lips. He shook his head and forced his gaze back onto Dottie. "I actually came to talk to your husband, Hudson, about what happened back in '93."

Dottie clucked her tongue and continued on in her movements, cutting out a slice of pie and placing it on a plate. "He's out at the moment. Supply run. But he's due back any moment now, so you might as well enjoy some pie while we wait for him."

Dean warred with himself for only a moment longer before allowing his smile to grow, finally accepting the pie and taking up the fork on the countertop. "Well, it would be rude not to."

"Exactly," Dottie agreed, patting his hand once more and moving away from the counter to continue her cleaning as Dean started to tuck into the pie.

He closed his eyes at the first mouthful, savouring the taste and taking his time before swallowing. There had been many pies in many towns, but none took him back to his childhood quite like the one on the plate in front of him. The texture, the taste, the aching memory of a time when things were simpler. When black was black and white was white. When good was good and bad was bad. No greys, no in-betweens, no roads to Hell paved with good intentions.

"You know," Dean said around another mouthful of pie, "we must have been in town for nearly a month, but all I really remember is this pie…"

"Aren't you a sweetheart?" Dottie answered from somewhere behind him, the smile clear in her voice. "It ain't nothing special, just a few bits of this and that, with a little something extra."

A light laugh escaped Dean's lips. "You never did get around to telling me what the secret ingredient was. You always promised, but you never did."

"Love and care," Dottie teased, returning to the counter and taking a seat on the stool beside him. She smiled brightly and leaned against the surface with her elbow, watching him.

Dean took another bite and pursed his lips as he thought some more, the familiar taste and smell of the pie scratching at the memories long since buried, taking him back all those years. He swallowed the piece in his mouth and paused. "I don't even remember leaving town. I… think we left in a hurry. I just don't… I can't remember why."

"Oh, don't worry, sweetie," Dottie crooned. "It'll come back to you. Now, just you eat up. I made it just for you."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The chinking of glass on glass had Sam raising his head from the pages in his hands, instead watching as Eddie poured himself another drink and proceeded to take a long swig of it. Sam cleared his throat and worked his jaw, still attempting to process the information he had been presented with.

"My dad…" Sam started, holding up the pages and moving forward until he was standing in front of the counter. "He would have told us. He would have warned us…"

"Would have, or should have?" Eddie questioned, eyebrow raised. He shook his head and let go of a breath. "Look, why do you think he sent me? To keep you boys away. To keep _Dean_ away…" He nodded his head toward the pages in Sam's grip. "Read for yourself. This thing, he knew it wanted your brother, and he had no intention of letting it have a second chance."

"Second chance," Sam repeated, finding himself looking down at the pages once more, skimming over the entries and picking up words and sentences here and there – none of which put his mind at rest.

Eddie scoffed. "You boys really don't remember, do ya? Not that I'm surprised, and your daddy probably tried to keep it that way. I ain't saying he was right or wrong, but he loved you boys and, Kid, love ain't smart. It makes you do stupid things – like keeping secrets."

Sam knew all too well many examples of stupid things caused by love. He had done a fair few himself and had been on the other end of plenty more. It was the Winchester way. But he shook the thoughts from his head, focusing on the present and what was right in front of him, as well as what wasn't.

Dean.

"What is it?" he questioned Eddie, as he placed the pages on the counter and dug into his pocket, pulling out his phone to scroll through the contacts for Dean's name.

"Never did find out for certain. Seemed it up and left town by the time John got back to town, but he always knew it would be back, and who can argue with a man like John Winchester?" Eddie placed both hands against the countertop, his gaze roaming over the papers strewn about here and there. "Our best guess was a witch of some kind…"

"A bodach?" Sam supplied, half listening to Eddie and half to the phone against his ear as it rang and rang and rang.

"Yeah, that was John's favourite, but like I say, we never did find out for certain."

Dean's answer phone message cut in through the ringing and Sam hung up, cursing under his breath before trying again. He pleaded internally for his brother to answer, but just like before, it was Dean's answer phone that answered. The only difference was that it never even rang before cutting out. He would have attempted another cell number, but he already knew it would be useless. He had the Impala and Dean's other cells were in the glove box.

"Damn it, Dean," he breathed out, closing his eyes briefly and composing himself.

"Told you you should have left town," Eddie offered up.

"Not helpful," Sam answered with a shake of his head, jaw set.

He snatched up the pages of his father's journal and pushed them into pocket with one hand as he used the other to scroll through his phone once more until he reached Rowena's number. His feet were already heading toward the door, his now spare hand wrapping around the keys to the Impala, when he brought the cell up to his ear.

"Who are you calling now?" Eddie questioned, grabbing his jacket and following Sam out the door. "The police?"

"Someone with a lot more power and knowledge than the police…" Sam answered, and it was only the sound of the phone clicking, Rowena's voice coming through clear as day, that had him pausing beside the Impala.

"You're awfully impatient, Samuel," Rowena teased when she answered, her voice a light but drawn out sing song. "I've barely managed to scratch the surface of your mystery spell."

"They're creating the perfect host, Rowena," Sam interrupted before she could go on any further. He switched the call to speakerphone and held it out in front of him, looking up to Eddie as the hunter stilled and quietened, eyebrows raised.

"Ah…" was her short response, a simple noise that held so much.

"Ah?" Sam questioned, and he could feel the knots forming in his stomach. "What is 'ah'?"

The sound of pages being turned whispered down the phone before Rowena spoke again, and when she did, her voice held trepidation and a hint of worry. "Well, there is one spell I came across that fits with that but you're not going to like it. We're talking some serious stuff here – heading down the dark path and on your way toward necromancy."

"What does the spell do?" Impatience and worry crept in, setting Sam on edge, crawling over every inch of him and settling over his skin like a buzz of electric.

"In simple terms, my dear boy, it raises the dead, and I don't just mean days or months dead. A spell like this, if performed correctly with all the correct materials, it could bring someone back that died centuries ago. Of course, their own bodies would be no more good – hence the body parts. It's a lot easier to reanimate something that actually has flesh still left on the bone."

Sam allowed the words to sink in, allowed them to circle inside his head, slowly processing them. "And how would they do it? What else would they need to complete the spell?"

"Well, the replacement parts, or body, would need to be prepared properly. This is where the yucca comes in, it needs to be in the body for quite some time to do its work and then cleansed with it before the ritual. That's the hardest part – the rest is simply conjuring ingredients."

"How much yucca?"

"Enough to work its way through."

"How much?" Sam repeated, urgency taking hold of his tone.

There was a sharp breath of understanding on the other end of the phone, and when Rowena spoke again, it was with a careful tone. "Sam… Where's Dean?"

"Rowena, the yucca… how much would it take?"

Her next words held an ounce of panic. "I don't know? A tablespoon would do the trick if given enough time."

Sam's shoulders fell and he closed his eyes, swallowing hard. "A tablespoon? Are you sure?"

It was Eddie who spoke next, pulling his jacket on and straightening it out, forcing Sam to open his eyes and look to him. "I know they say you're the smart one, kid, but that don't mean your brother would be stupid enough to start eating a damn plant."

"He would if it was mixed with something else."

"Like what?"

"Pie…"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

By the time Dean was nearing the end of his slice of pie, Dottie was already on the other side of the counter attempting to cut him another. He pushed his lips out and waved his hands in dismissal before patting his stomach and shaking his head. "I really, really couldn't eat another…" He smiled and cleared his throat, glancing around the empty diner and toward the doorway with a frown. "How long did you say Mr McLaren would be?"

"Hudson?" Dottie questioned, her voice a light lilt in the buzzing air of the diner. "Oh, I'd say he'll be back any moment."

As if on cue, noises from the kitchen out the back echoed through the air toward Dean's ears. He smiled and made to stand but found his balance wavering. With a frown, he found himself sitting back down on the stool, both hands on the countertop for support. Dottie patted the top of his hand and he hand to force his eyes closed a second to clear the double vision that suddenly took hold.

Before he could question it, or Dottie, a large and well built man appeared from out the back, his hair grey, and beard too, apart from the specks of red here; a lengthy scar running down the right side of his face from his eyebrow down to his chin. Hudson McLaren. Or so Dean assumed. He hadn't had much to do with him when they were in town all those years back and the report he had read held no pictures of the man.

Hudson moved to stand beside Dottie, weaving an arm around her waist as he placed a dark blue cooler on the counter beside the register. There were faint specks of red on it too, and the more Dean's gaze lingered on that scar on Husdon's face, the more familiar it felt, despite having known he hadn't seen it, not even in pictures from online articles about the diner. And yet… he remembered that scar. He remembered it red and gushing, and he remembered the feel of a blade in his grip.

"It wasn't the killer all them years ago that you survived, was it?" Dean forced out at the beaming man, glaring at the couple in front of him, his voice hard despite the wooziness taking a well and truly good hold on him now.

Hudson held up a finger. "Now, that's not entirely true, is it, Dean? It was a killer, after all, that gave me this scar. I would repay the favour but… well, that would make all of this a waste, wouldn't it?"

Grip tightening around the fork beside his plate, Dean made to push up, aiming to jab out with the makeshift weapon. He didn't even make it up from his seat. Hudson shot forward and gripped Dean's forearm, slamming it back down against the counter and squeezing it hard until Dean's fingers automatically let go of the fork.

"Did you really think we would let you just walk away? _Again_?" Dottie crooned from behind Hudson, still as cheery as before. In fact, if anything, she sounded chirpier.

"What did you do to me?"

"Oh, don't worry, honey," Dottie said, wiping her hands on her apron before removing it. "It's just a few drugs to make you drowsy. Nothing that would do any permanent damage."

Dean attempted to clench a fist but it was useless. Whatever was pumping through his system was taking hold and he didn't stand a chance. Even as his phone buzzed inside his pocket, the ringtone filling the empty air of the diner. Hudson reached inside the jacket and pulled the phone free, a smarmy smile on the older man's face as he pressed decline. The man didn't even allow the cell to ring again before placing it on the counter and using a napkin dispenser to smash down hard on it until it was so dead it would need salting and burning.

"Why?" Dean questioned, and in the back of his mind, he wondered where Sam would find him and what body part he would be missing. His tongue? His fingernails?

"Dottie here has a gift," Hudson answered. "Some women have an eye for feng shui, some have an eye for colour schemes… but my Dottie, she always knows exactly what ingredients we need to make the perfect recipe."

"Oh god, please tell me you're not going to eat me…" Dean lowered his eyes. "You're going to eat me, aren't you?"

Dottie laughed, such a gentle and hearty laugh, which felt so out of place in such a situation. "Don't be silly, Dean. We're not monsters. We just want to use your body to raise our son back from the dead. We've had so many failures, but with you… this time – this time it will be different."

One last attempt, one more push, but before Dean could even stand, he felt Hudson's hand on the back of his head and then the last thing he remembered was the countertop rushing toward him.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_Must have been nearly dawn when I finally found Dean, about half a mile up from the turn off to the old mill. He was wandering along the side of the road in a daze; didn't even stop when I pulled up next to him. He looked like he was a million miles away… covered in blood – though I don't think it was all his._

_I cleaned him up when we got back to the apartment, and most of the physical damage is superficial – rope burns around his wrists, light bruises and cuts from where he must have fought back. The worst wound is the slash down his arm, but I cleaned it up and he didn't even flinch when I started putting the stitches in. It's like he's gone numb to the pain._

_But it's not the physical stuff that worries me._

_I swear, it's just like when Mary died. He won't speak. Hasn't said a word since I found him. Hasn't lost that look in his eyes, like he's not fully here, like he's still back there, in those woods, with whatever took him. I tried to question him, tried to get answers, but he wouldn't even look at me._

_We're halfway toward Bobby Singer's place. He's got a way with the boys, I'm hoping it'll make Dean feel safe. New Hope certainly isn't safe for him. If whatever took him is still alive, then it's not finished with him and I can't risk it getting hold of him again. I never should have taken my eyes off of him. I knew he wasn't on top form… I knew something was wrong._

_I should have just kept on driving…_

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 7

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Even from across the road, where Sam parked up the Impala, he could see that the diner was empty. In the twilight hour of the day, where the streetlamps were beginning to flicker on and it was the perfect time for a bite to eat, the diner was dark when it should have been lit up and bustling with customers. The sight only served to worsen the pit in Sam's stomach.

He climbed from the car and moved to the trunk, already loading his gun by the time Eddie joined him. The elder hunter rested a hand on the Impala and stuffed the other into the pocket of his jacket, darkened eyes looking over Sam with a hint of sorrow. But Sam didn't need his pity. Dean was alive. He had to be.

Rowena had been very clear, for the spell to work, they needed a live sacrifice to complete it. And who better to use as a sacrifice than Dean Winchester, a man who would sacrifice himself over and over again for family, for innocents, for the greater good?

"You sure that this husband and wife team are our killers?" Eddie asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them during the drive there.

"Dean found a police report about a survivor during the last attacks. Hudson McLaren," Sam answered, stuffing his gun into the waistband of his jeans. "But the only thing Hudson survived back then was a fourteen year old Dean fighting for his life, I'm sure of it."

"And say they're in there, say they're the ones that have been doing this," Eddie said, motioning to the diner, "you even got the first clue how to kill a bodach?"

Sam snatched up the small box of bullets he had been loading into his gun and lightly tossed them to Eddie, waiting until the older hunter had opened it up before explaining. "Witch killing bullets – and since a bodach is essentially a he-witch, these should do the trick." He reached further into the trunk to pull out a spare handgun and passed it to Eddie. "You might want to load up."

Eddie scoffed, but he did as he was told, before passing the box back and testing the weight of the gun in his grip when he was done. Certainly easier to conceal than that rifle of his. "I gotta say, kid – you boys aren't quite what I expected."

"And why's that?" Sam asked offhandedly, only half paying attention to Eddie.

"Well, like I said before - hunters talk," Eddie answered, as if that explained everything.

"Yeah, and so do parrots." Sam was already halfway across the road when he answered. In the back of his mind, he thought about the hunters they had come across in the past; the good and the bad. He had a vague idea what some thought of him and his brother, and it wasn't always positive.

That earned him a guffaw from Eddie, the sound heavy and harsh. "You ever hear a fisherman talk about their best catch or the one that got away?"

Sam narrowed his eyes at the question, glancing to Eddie briefly before returning his attention to the door of the diner as they approached. He could clearly read the 'closed' sign now and his heart just kept on sinking as it began to admit what his head already knew. They were too late. If Dean and the McLarens had been there, they certainly weren't there anymore.

"My point is, the fish is always ten foot long with teeth as sharp as needles. But most of the time, when you get to the truth, it was a minnow barely longer than their little finger." Eddie snorted. "You Winchesters though? You have a knack for living up to your tall tales."

"Thanks? I guess…" Sam answered, not entirely sure if Eddie's words were meant as a compliment or not. But he was focused back on task before Eddie could say anything further, trying the door to the diner and finding, to no real surprise, that it was locked. "I'll head around back, see if there's another way in."

He made to start walking but Eddie's next words, followed by the sound of breaking glass, stopped him in his tracks.

"No need," the older hunter said, and when Sam turned around, Eddie had reached through the broken window to unlock the door from the inside. "I found a key."

"Well, that's one way to get in…" Not that Sam was complaining. The sooner they got inside, the sooner they could piece together what had happened to Dean and why his cell phone kept heading straight to voicemail.

"What can I say? I prefer it old school," Eddie quipped with a rakish grin that reminded Sam of a younger Dean who didn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Sam let go of an amused huff in appreciation and followed Eddie into the diner. His eyes were immediately drawn to the counter beside the cash register, and once more, worry began twisting at his insides. The lone plate that sat there stood out beside the dark stain – the dark stain that, as Sam drew closer and pulled his phone out to use as a flashlight, he began to see was red and sticky and most definitely not a good sign. Very much like the smashed cell phone beneath the napkin holder Sam picked up.

"Damn it, Dean," he cursed under his breath, and his fingertips brushed against the crumbs on the plate. He swallowed at the thick lump in his throat and looked up to meet Eddie's eyes. "There's got to be something here that'll tell us where they took him."

"Well then, we best start looking."

It didn't take too long for them to find the door to the basement, or the workbench with what looked like flower crowns mixed with yucca, or the large industrial fridge filled with an array of body parts. If there had been any doubt that Dottie and Hudson were the killers, it was long gone – along with Sam's breath when his phone alerted him to another dead body just outside of town.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

There were many common occurrences on hunts that you never really got used to. The sight of mangled corpses – where the insides were on the outside or, in some cases, painted on the walls. The distinct and putrid scent of rotten flesh – days, weeks, or even months old. Head injuries and their residual effects; from the pounding to the thumping, and the constant sensation of spinning, or the nausea and heavy feeling, as if your head was stuffed with cotton wool and sharpened needles all at once. The latter of which stabbed violently through Dean's head as he attempted to raise it from where it hung forward, chin against his chest.

No, he would never get used to head injuries.

Despite the aching, Dean forced his eyes open to take in his new surroundings. The diner was long gone. Instead, he had been seated on dirt and grass, a rough trunk of a tree providing him some support whilst also offering itself up as an anchor to the ropes that tethered him to the tree by his wrists. He gave a tug and twist, pulling forward a little as he tested their strength, but there was no give there and all the movements served to do was cause the ropes to dig in deeper against his skin.

For the moment, he was alone in the clearing, but he knew it wouldn't last for long. Sam would no doubt be looking for him by now, but in the expanse of the forest surrounding the town, without knowing where to start, it would be impossible for the youngest to reach him before Dottie and Hudson returned from wherever they were.

"I am so screwed," he breathed out, looking out at what little he could see in front of him.

Darkness covered most of the brush, but the moonlight provided enough light for him to see the faint and almost ethereal reflection glowing on the surface of a small brook several feet away from him. He found himself drawn to it, found himself sinking into a familiar sensation, a shadow of a memory. Déjà vu scratched at the back of his mind, and the sound of footsteps approaching only served to strengthen the wisp of memory that faded in and out the longer he stared at the water's surface.

"It's a beautiful place," came Dottie's voice, dragging Dean from his thoughts and forcing his attention toward the woman as she approached with Hudson. Whilst Hudson moved toward the brook, Dottie made her way toward Dean. "It must be over two decades since you were last here?"

Dean straightened up against the tree trunk, rolling his shoulders as he did so – as much as he could anyway, what with the ropes being so tight. He didn't speak, but he couldn't help the grimace at the rope burn already forming around his wrists.

"I do apologise for the triple knot," Dottie said, and her voice was almost sincere, as if she actually meant it, and still as chirpy as it had been when they had first entered the diner. "We had to take extra precautions this time, what with how you managed to slip free all them years ago."

Swallowing hard, Dean rested the back of his head against the tree and raised an eyebrow at Dottie, his own tone dry as he aimed for bored. "So what now, Dottie? You kill me?"

She smiled sweetly and lowered herself to her haunches in front of him where she tapped his knee lightly, almost playfully. "Don't be so quick to want to die – we need to drain your blood first. A live sacrifice to start the spell."

"Great," Dean quipped, unable to stop the way his throat worked at the sight of the metal dish and knife in Dottie's hands.

It was futile, but he attempted to pull away on instinct when she moved to his side and gripped hold of his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the skin beneath. The cool metal of the blade cut into him and he cursed her, turning his head enough to see her guiding his blood into the dish. Jaw set and rigid, he snarled and looked up ahead to Hudson. The older man busied himself by the edge of the brook, placing the box he had had back at the diner on the ground before turning his attention toward the waters.

"What's in the box?" he questioned, wondering if perhaps he was better off not knowing.

"Timothy Banks – God rest his soul," Dottie answered cheerfully, and she swirled the dish as she did so. "Never touched a drop of alcohol his entire life. His liver is…"

"Perfect," Dean chimed in, closing his eyes as he remembered Sam's initial theory about the missing body parts.

"Now, don't go taking offence," she said, admonishing him. "You… from the first moment I saw you as a child, I knew. You were perfect. We had so many failures, so many almosts, but I knew when I saw you that it would be different." She placed a hand on the side of his face and he shirked away. "As a boy, you were whole… but now, well – let's just say that liver of yours isn't as fresh as it used to be and well, it wouldn't be fair on my Jasper. He deserves the best. He deserves absolute perfection. His body failed him. _I_ failed him. I thought I would have to make do with scraps… bits and pieces all muddled together, but then you showed up and it was like destiny."

"Jasper… your son. Your _dead_ son." He closed his eyes, jaw working as he thought of the connotations to what Dottie was saying. When he opened them again, it was to meet hers with a glare that burned both hot and cold at the same time. "So what? That's your plan? Have Jasper jump my bones?" He scoffed and shook his head a little, the corner of his mouth rising into a sardonic half-smile. "Well, I hate to say it, sister, but you got it all wrong. I don't know who you've been talking to but I'm about as broken as they come."

"Oh no, no, no. It's your _soul_ that is broken, my dear boy. There is no repairing or cleansing the damage done to that. Your body on the other hand… If you can walk away after being possessed by an archangel – because yes, we know all about that – then your body is strong enough for my baby boy."

Dean grimaced at the thought, turning away from her, face set into a sneer. "What? Was it in the weekly newsletter for freaks or something? Monster's Digest? Dean Winchester possessed by _dick_ angel."

She let go of a light chortle but didn't reply, instead patting him gently on his shoulder as she set the bowl down on the forest floor beside her. Pulling a cloth from her pocket, she dabbed at the slash down Dean's arm before wrapping it up. "There we go – wouldn't want you to bleed out completely."

"Yeah," Dean all but hissed at her, "all better. Why don't you try sticking a band aid on it? I'm sure it'll do wonders."

"Oh don't you worry, Dean," Dottie answered, standing up and brushing off the bits of dead leaves from around the bottom of her dress, "it won't be long before it's not your problem anymore."

"Dorothy," Hudson called from by the brook, catching both Dottie's and Dean's attention as he gazed upward toward the moon overhead, "it's time."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The latest crime scene was on the edge of town, back toward the long and winding road the brothers had used to enter New Hope. Sam tore through the streets and on past the outskirts and forestry until he and Eddie reached the flashing lights and yellow crime scene tape, and once they were parked up, he tore through the tape too. His heart hammered hard inside his chest, so loud that the pumping echoed loudly in his ears, drowning out the sirens and voices of protest as he pushed forward until he was standing over the latest body – face down in the dirt of the forest floor.

It was only when he rolled the body over to stare down at somebody who was definitely not Dean, that he found he could breathe again. He took in a deep lungful of air and stepped back, his hands moving up and into his hair, pushing through it until they came to rest on the back of his neck. He could feel the tears in his eyes, could feel the tremble in his body as the panic and adrenaline began to seep away, but he was still so far on edge that he all but jumped when Eddie placed a hand on his back.

"You good, kid?" the elder hunter questioned, genuine concern lining the very edges of his words.

Sam breathed out and cleared his throat before nodding and forcing his body to release some of the tension it clung so desperately too. "Yeah. I'm good."

But for how long was the real question. How long before the next body to turn up _was_ Dean's? Or worse – how long before the McLaren's completed whatever magic they were working and somebody else rocked up in Dean's body?

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" The loud and angry voice of the officer in charge echoed through the crime scene as the man approached with thunder behind each step. "This is a crime scene!"

Sam swung to face the man, recognising him from earlier – the older officer who had a problem with feds swooping in to take over his case. He looked no less impressed now, in fact, if anything, the aggravation written across the lines of his face seemed to only deepen as he seemed to recognise Sam too. Sam took a breath, attempting to compose himself as he inclined his head at the man.

"Agent something or other, right?" the officer growled out, glancing around the area, no doubt in search of Dean. "Where's your partner?"

"Smith. Agent Smith," Sam answered, only half paying attention to the man as he cleared his throat and motioned to Eddie, "and this is Mr Jones. He's a consultant."

The officer raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "Consultant, eh?" He shook his head. "You mean he's one of those psychic frauds. Either way, mind telling me what the hell you think you're doing tampering with my crime scene?"

But Sam had no answers for him. His mind was running a mile a minute, already thinking ahead to his next steps, thoughts colliding with one another as he tried to piece together the puzzle in front of him. "Who discovered the body?"

"Anonymous tip," the officer growled, bobbing his head toward Eddie. "But if your psychic 'consultant' here was worth a damn, he could have told you that."

Sam paid no heed, the words washing over him as his steps were already taking him back toward the Impala. He could hear the annoyed grumbles from the officer but he ignored them, instead reaching into his pocket for his father's journal pages once more, skimming over the pages as he went, until he found what it was he was looking for.

"What you thinking, kid?" Eddie asked, trailing along beside Sam. "You're onto something."

"Whatever it is they're planning, they know they don't have much time, so they've got to act fast," Sam answered and he came to a stop beside the Impala, raising his eyes from the pages to meet Eddie's gaze.

"I get it," Eddie said, holding up his hands, "we need to find your brother, and soon. But, kid, we don't even know where to start."

"No." Sam shook his head and held up the pages. "We know exactly where to start. When Dad found Dean all those years back, it was along the road passed the old mill."

"But that's at the opposite end of town."

"Exactly."

It took a moment, but the light bulb went off behind Eddie's eyes just as Sam was climbing into the driver's seat once more. The older hunter rounded the Impala and climbed in also. "The anonymous tip…"

"They're trying to distract us."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_Dean's having nightmares. He woke up last night drenched in sweat and all tangled up in sheets, but he won't speak to me. I keep trying to get answers from him, so I can head back to town and kill whatever it was that did this to him, but he's closed off. Bobby reckons his mind is trying to push it down. Maybe that's for the best… but something hurt him, the same thing that killed all those people, and I've got to finish the job before it does._

_The only lead I have is this damn flower I found stuffed into his jacket. I've got Bobby looking into it, but he's no gardener. He's put the feelers out though and told me to take a drive. A nice long one. Maybe he's right. The way I am right now, it's no good for Dean, or Sam. I brought them here to feel safe and I'm so on edge it's having the opposite effect._

_I'll head back to New Hope in the morning, give the boys some space. Maybe once I hit the road, Dean will open up to Bobby. God knows I see that same look in his eyes I saw all those years ago, after the shtriga attack. Seems it doesn't matter how old he gets, the thing he fears most is disappointing his old man._

_I never wanted this for them… but I don't even know how to give them a normal life anymore. I wouldn't even know where to start._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	8. Chapter 8

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 8

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The Impala sped down the roads until finally it reached the opening that led up to the old mill. From there, Sam slowed the pace to a crawl, his gaze darting back and forth across the road and past the tree line, searching for anything that stood out. A dirt track, a path leading into the woods, or a beige SUV parked up in such a way it was almost completely hidden by the brush, easily missed unless someone was looking for it.

Sam parked up along the opposite side of the road and was climbing out when his phone began to ring in his pocket. Tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans, he pulled his phone free from his pocket and took only a quick glance at the screen before answering it, all the while Eddie readied himself beside Sam.

"Rowena," Sam answered, rounding the Impala and popping the truck with his free hand.

"Have you found him?" was Rowena's somewhat frantic reply, and Sam could tell she was pacing, her footsteps only just audible through the phone. "Because I hate to say it, but you're running out of time."

"What are you talking about?" Sam pressed the speakerphone button and placed his phone down as he began rummaging through the trunk for a flashlight. The first he found, he handed to Eddie, and the second he flicked on and off a couple of times, testing it, when Rowena replied.

"Have you seen the moon, Samuel? There are certain spells where the effects can be maximised if performed at the correct time and given your location, I imagine that the moon should be hitting just the right part of the sky any moment now."

Sam straightened, snatching the phone up and slamming the trunk closed, his mind once again working overtime. "I never told you where we were, Rowena…"

A small breath before Rowena answered, her words as slippery as she could often be. "I may have performed a small location spell…"

"A location spell?" But in that moment, Sam couldn't care less about the moon or Rowena having performed a spell. The spell itself however… "Does that mean you know where to find Dean?"

"I know what you're thinking, Samuel, but with the amount of disturbance in the air, I was lucky to even find a rough location for the pair of you, and even if I did know Dean's precise location, given the area, I couldn't exactly tell you to take a left after the next tree and head straight on from there… unless…"

She fell silent, her footsteps once more echoing down the phone, followed by the turning of pages.

"Unless?" Sam prompted, and then, when she didn't answer, he spoke again, a little harsher and more demanding, "Rowena!"

"I don't suppose you just happen to have any dowsing rods in that Mary Poppins trunk of yours, or… _anywhere_ nearby?"

"Sure, Lady," Eddie growled, and Sam looked up to see the older hunter was less than impressed; his arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows raised. "I keep 'em next to my healing crystals and subscription to Astrologist Weekly."

Rowena huffed out. "I have to say, I don't think I'm keen on your new friend, Sam."

"Play nice, Rowena," Sam admonished, shaking his head and closing his eyes a breath as he pleaded for strength. "You were saying? Dowsing rods?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, one of the reasons I can't get an exact pinpoint on you boys is the magic in that area. It runs deep within the earth, and if your bodach wanted to perform the spell to its best potential, they would be fools to overlook the benefit of it. Between that and the moon, they've got the perfect set up right there."

"What are you saying, Rowena?"

"Ley lines, my boy. Magical pockets of energy. And let me tell you, ever since that rift was opened and your Archangel jumped on over to this world, it's awoken all kinds of dormant magic." She paused a moment before continuing. "Now rods alone, they don't hold much power. Most of it is baloney, but in a witch's hand, it could lead you straight along the ley lines and right to Dean."

"You're forgetting one thing," Eddie supplied, "we're fresh out of witches."

"That's why I've got a spell here ready for you to use. All you need to do is find a forked branch. I imagine that shouldn't be too difficult, even for a brute."

It took less than five minutes for Sam to find a branch that would do the trick and pull it free from the tree it had been firmly attached to, uttering the words to the spell that Rowena had passed onto him. At first, there was nothing. It was just a branch and he was just standing there, with Rowena waiting standby on the phone to see if it worked, whilst Eddie peered on into the woods with his flashlight, pacing back and forth impatiently.

"You really putting your faith in a witch, boy?" Eddie questioned on a growl, glancing back toward Sam before looking out into the trees once more.

"Rowena isn't exactly your average witch," Sam answered, but even as he said it, doubt was niggling at the back of his mind, the branch remaining as perfectly still as it was when Sam had pulled it from the tree. He cleared his throat and directed his attention back to the phone in his other hand. "Err, Rowena… how long is this spell supposed to take?"

"Well, it most cases I imagine it should be almost instantaneous."

"Almost?"

"It varies… depending on the spell caster and their abilities."

"Rowena, that's not help-" But he fell silent before he could finish, feeling just the slightest of tugs on the branch, as if someone had brushed by and caught it by accident.

"Both hands now, Samuel. Think of it as electricity. An open circuit, it runs rampant. But close that circuit? Direct the flow… and then you're cooking. Now go find Dean."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean knocked his head back against the tree trunk lightly in frustration, offering up a snarl and low growl before watching Dottie cross the small clearing toward her husband. The ropes scratched at his skin and with every tug, he could feel the burn getting worse. For now, he was trapped there, unable to break free or fight back against whatever was coming his way. There was no handy knife to use to aid him in his escape, but considering the Hudson's words and actions, he didn't exactly have time to sit around and wait to be saved either. So instead, his jaw stiffened as he glared at the pair and his fingers searched what they could of the ground at the base of the tree, hoping for something, anything, that he could use.

The McLaren's busied themselves by the water, Dottie standing on her tiptoes to kiss her husband as she passed the dish in her hands to him. When she moved back, Dean could see what Hudson had pulled from the water. In the dim moonlight, the drops of water glistened and shone against the black metal surface, trickling down to pool in the dirt beneath it.

"Is that a cauldron?" Dean questioned, leaning forward a little and narrowing his gaze a little on the object before shaking his head and letting go of a scoff, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Little cliché, don't you think, Dottie?"

"Even magic has its rules," Dottie answered, and she lowered herself to pick something up from the ground – a necklace of flowers from what Dean could see. "Everything has to be done just right, at the right time… in the right order."

Instead of donning the flower necklace, Dottie raised it up and closed her eyes, the words that slipped from her lips most definitely not English, or Latin either. Instead, it was an unfamiliar tongue that twisted and turned in ways that Dean may have heard before but he couldn't pinpoint where or when. It was when she finished and began approaching Dean that he began to recognise the red flower intertwined amongst the vines and leaves. Yucca.

He was so distracted by the thoughts running through his mind, remembering what Sam had said about the plant, that he was caught off guard when Dottie gently placed it on his head like a crown. He shirked away from the touch but crown stayed in place.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me…" he breathed out, his glare following Dottie once more as she returned to her husband, offering up a nod as she did so.

Grimacing, Dean turned his attention back to the ground around the tree, his fingertips brushing against the stones and dead leaves littering it. He was running out of time. That much he knew, and his heart sank more and more as the surface of each stone was just smooth as the last. He was about to give up when he felt the rough bite of a sharp edged rock peeking out from under the dirt.

Up ahead, the McLarens continued with their spell but the words washed over Dean, making no more sense to him than Greek or gibberish. Still, he got the general gist of what was being said as they placed what Dean believed to be the poor latest dead scmuck's liver in the cauldron before slowly adding the blood Dottie had just taken from him.

He scowled at the sight but chose to focus on dragging at the dirt surrounding the rock, digging it out, the damp earth sticking under his fingernails and coating his skin, until finally, the rock slipped free. From there, he shifted himself and got as good a grasp as he could so he could start on trying to cut through the rope. It was no knife, but it was better than sitting there waiting for Jasper the not so friendly ghost to jump his bones.

Dottie paused in her speech and pulled a locket from beneath her collar, clicking open the large oval. For a moment, she seemed lost to whatever memories lay inside, but once she had collected herself, she pulled something free and slipped the locket away again. There was hesitation in her movements as she held whatever it was above the cauldron, her eyes locking with Hudson's.

"This is the last piece," she whispered, the pleading in her tone tinged in sadness too. "If we don't get this right… we won't get another chance."

"This is it, my love. This is the _exact_ chance we have been waiting for." Hudson placed a hand on the side of her face and Dean rolled his eyes at the action. "Our boy is coming home."

"Oh please," Dean groaned, keeping his gaze half on the object in Dottie's grasp – a lock of hair by the looks – whilst he kept his attention on the rope binding him. He needed more time. "You think this ends happily ever after?"

"Maybe not for you," Hudson answered, as sharp as the daggers in his gaze.

"Say the spell works, say you bring back your son. It won't be him anymore. I've seen enough of this crap to know." He shook his head and looked between the pair. "They never come back the same. They always come back… wrong."

Dottie's smile widened and she took a step away from the cauldron, toward Dean. "Oh Dean, you forget. You Winchesters have a reputation. You think we don't know the stories? About you? About Sam? How many times have you cheated death, dear boy?"

Jaw clenched, Dean couldn't help the tick of a scornful smile at the corner of his mouth or the small scoff that slipped out. "Well sister, I hate to break it to you – but I ain't exactly the poster child of what's right in this world."

Hudson gently squeezed Dottie's upper arm, bringing her attention back to the spell and the cauldron. But his gaze looked passed her and straight into Dean, the smarmy smirk on his scarred face as sadistic and twisted as the poison that coated his words. "Either way, in ten minutes, you won't care anymore."

More foreign words echoed in the small clearing, and Dottie took a breath before allowing the lock of hair to drop into the cauldron. Dean let go of a groan of frustration, tugging once more at his bindings, giving up on the rock and focusing on brute force instead. But he stilled at the crunch of dirt and leaves behind him, holding his breath at the sound, listening out for another.

It didn't come. But the touch of a hand on his arm did and he swung his head to see Sam kneeling beside him, holding a finger up to hush him whilst his other hand pulled a knife free. Dean allowed himself to fall back against the trunk of the tree, relief washing over him, and when Sam cut him free of the ropes, he rubbed at his wrists a moment before accepting the knife from Sam.

"You think we didn't hear you coming?" Hudson questioned, voice bellowing out across the clearing. He turned to face them, stepping away from the cauldron, but rather than casting a spell in their direction, he held his hand out to right, the whispered words matching his movements as he formed a fist and brought his arm swiftly around in front of him.

There was a strangled cry and a loud thump as Eddie was brought out of the brush and straight into the path of a nearby tree. Sam was on his feet immediately, whilst Dean moved a little slower, his body full of aches he hadn't even known were there. Between that and the head wound, it was no wonder his world spun a little once he was finally up.

"It's over," Sam answered in return, and his hand snaked behind his back, no doubt for his gun, but before he had a chance to grab it, he was thrown backwards by a spell from Dottie.

"Sam!" Dean called out on instinct, swinging around with a tightness in his chest that only relieved itself at the sight of Sam already starting to recover. Anger burned through Dean, his grip tightening on the knife and glare turning hard as he looked back to the McLaren's once more. He pointed the tip of the blade at the pair, a scowl playing across his upper lip. "You're going to wish you hadn't done that."

Hudson began to raise his hand toward Dean, and for a fleeting moment, Dean could feel the air leaving his lungs, as if being forced out, his chest closing in on itself, but the sensation stopped as soon as Dottie placed a gentle hand on her husband's arm and took a step forward and in front of him. It was almost a protective stance, except it wasn't Hudson she was protecting, and it wasn't Dean either. Not really. It was the fine packaging that came with him. The meat suit that she wanted for her dead son.

"You're too late," she crooned, in that same soft tone of hers that she had used back at the diner. Her gaze moved beyond Dean and toward Sam, before roaming over Eddie as the elder hunter pulled himself up from the ground with the help of the tree he had been thrown into. But ultimately, it was Dean that had her attention as her gaze moved back to him. She held her hands out in front of her, palms up, beckoning him forward. "Come now, Dean. It's time."

"I don't think so, bitch," Dean answered with a shake of his head, adjusting the knife and gripping it tight, ready for the oncoming fight.

She cocked her head to the side but still continued to smile. At least she did until a loud shot rang out through the forest. Her eyes widened a moment, her hands moving behind her back before pulling away to reveal blood. Anger flashed across her features, all delicacy and motherly charm gone, as she lashed out toward Eddie and the somewhat metaphorical smoking gun in his grasp. His head whipped to the side as slashes appeared across his face, painted red with fresh blood.

Dean made the most of the distraction and immediately stalked forward to finish the job. He gripped Dottie's shoulder with one hand and thrust the knife up into her gut with the other. All the while, he was very much aware of Sam also moving forward, firing three shots in quick succession in Hudson's direction before giving chase after the older man. He became a bit more muddled after that, as blood seeped out from the wound to coat the blade and his hand. But instead of pulling away, Dottie pushed herself further into it, locking eyes with him in such a way that made his stomach drop.

His hands fell away, and he made to take a step back, but she gripped his wrist tight, keeping him rooted to the spot.

"Blood for blood," she said, and she let go of a gasp as she pulled the knife free with her spare hand, allowing it to drop the ground. "Life for life."

She coughed and sputtered, her grip only falling away as her body gave way and she crumpled to the ground. But Dean's gaze had moved away from her and toward the cauldron, which had until then, sat quiet and inactive. Now though, it began to bubble and boil, a mist rising up from it in circles, growing more and more as the life ebbed away from Dottie. The noise drowned out his brother's shouts from elsewhere in the woods, and those from Eddie too.

Dean could only watch as the mist continued to rise, becoming thicker, a strange light seeming to flicker through it. And when it shot forwards toward him, he had no time to react as it slammed into him and sent him flying straight back toward the tree he had been bound to. For a moment, as he attempted to focus his eyes, he thought he saw the figure of a man in front of him, then everything went black.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_I wish I knew what I was looking for. I don't even know what I'm up against. All I know is that I combed the woods near where I found Dean, and I searched and searched, but the most I found was bits of rope and more of those flowers. There's a florist in town, I'll head there tomorrow when it opens, see if they can identify the flower for me – then maybe I can make sense of all of this._

_Bobby called… he said the boys are doing fine. Dean is eating again, and talking. Not a whole lot, but bits here and there. I should be there with them. I should be making them feel safe… not whatever this is. But as much as my heart tells me that, my head tells me I need to finish this job before it comes back to finish Dean._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	9. Chapter 9

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 9

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The shot that Eddie had fired was the perfect distraction, and Sam was moving forward immediately. He knew that Dean, no matter how tired or hurt he was, had a handle on Dottie, which meant Sam could focus on Hudson. He aimed his gun and fired three shots, the barrel of his gun moving as Hudson turned tail and ran toward the thick brush, clutching his arm as he went.

A curse flitted out on Sam's breath and he took a quick glance behind toward Dean finishing Dottie off, before racing after Hudson into the forest. Eddie was on his tail immediately, flashlight in one hand, searching the darkness, gun in the other, ready and waiting to be fired again.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Eddie shouted after they had travelled a good way into the forest, the elder hunter stopping only long enough to tug at a broken branch with fresh blood staining it. "Looks like he passed through here."

But whilst Eddie made to continue forward, Sam paused. Hesitation gripped him and he chewed at his lower lip in thought, his gaze searching the forest ahead before looking back the way they had come. "Something isn't right."

Eddie said nothing at first, but opened his arms in questioning. "Okay, I'll bite – what's eating you? We've got the bad guy on the run and the longer we stand here debating, the more time he has to get away. Unless you've got a reason to let him go?"

"That's just it, why run in the first place?" Sam shook his head, and his feet were already moving backwards, toward the clearing, toward Dean. His chest tightened, his heartbeat quickening. No, something was wrong. "Why not stay and fight?"

"You nicked him. He's hurt… Even bad guys are smart enough to know when to retreat sometimes."

"No… he's not retreating," Sam answered, and his heart was hammering now, his feet pounding against the dirt, desperate to get back to the clearing as his brother's name ripped through his throat and out through his mouth. "Dean!"

They were being played. It hadn't been the McLarens that were distracted. It was them. Hudson wasn't running away, he was leading them away. Leading Sam and Eddie away from Dottie and Dean, and they had fallen for it. So eager to swoop in and save the day, to get the bad guy, that they missed the signs. That Sam missed the most obvious thing.

The live sacrifice that Rowena had mentioned, it wasn't Dean. It had never been Dean.

In his mind's eye, he could still clearly see Dean running Dottie through with the knife, finishing the job that Eddie had started. That's what they did. They hunted the monsters, they killed the bad guys. It was ingrained in them, and it was why Sam hadn't even given it a second thought that maybe, just maybe, it was what the McLaren's had been banking on.

He broke through the brush and into the clearing just in time to see his brother thrown back against a tree, body falling to the ground like a rag doll. A mist hung over Dean a moment, before descending, dissipating as it did so. Sam paused only a moment before pushing forward again and toward his brother, dropping to the ground beside him once he was there.

"Dean!" he called, hand on Dean's shoulder, shaking him, but getting no response. Taking a breath, Sam placed his fingers against Dean's throat, but the tension building up didn't lessen when he felt his brother's heartbeat. "Come on, man, wake up."

Eddie came to a stop behind him, his flashlight moving over the dead body of Dottie before turning toward Dean. "So… are we going to just ignore that weird shaped smoke we just saw entering your brother?"

"We don't know what we saw," Sam answered, voice stiff and full of denial. He tapped Dean's face, but still there was no response, no sign of his brother waking up. "We need to get him out of here…"

"Look, kid-" Eddie started, but Sam cut him off before he could go any further.

He looked up to the older hunter with unrelenting eyes, his gaze hardened. "I need to get my brother out of here, so you have two options – you can either help, or you can stay out of my way."

Eddie held his hands up. "I'm just saying – don't be shocked if he wakes up and it's not your brother anymore."

Sam huffed out and tucked his gun into his jeans once more, freeing his hands up to grip Dean and pull him up from the ground. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

It was with a sharp breath that Dean woke up, and when he did, he was still in the same clearing as before, but everything was… different. The air felt thick and heavy, pushing in on him as he pulled himself up from the ground with the help of the tree behind him. A strange fog had settled around him, as dense as the air it sat on, making it difficult for him to see much of what was around him. But one thing he could see was that he was alone, and that in itself was the telltale sign that this was wrong.

At the very least, Dottie's empty shell should have been crumpled up on the forest floor somewhere nearby, but the more Dean walked forward, the more he could see that there was nothing there. No one.

"Sam!" he tried calling, and the name echoed around in the air, sounding hollow to his own ears.

There was no reply and he cursed under his breath, pushing onward, toward the only source of light he could see. The small pond that Hudson had dragged the cauldron from. The surface shone as if the moon was not only reflected upon it, but buried beneath the depths, and as Dean looked up to the empty sky, he began to wonder if that was true.

"'the hell?" he questioned, brow burrowed, jaw clenching and unclenching as his throat worked, swallowing the confusion and frustration.

A familiar unease settled over him, the kind that came with prying eyes and lurking shadows, and he turned on the spot to search the forestry around him once more. Nothing moved, nothing stood out. That was until Dean saw him… The man that had appeared from nothing, standing beneath the tree that Dean had woken under.

Dean stiffened and straightened his back, looking out across the clearing at the man. From his ethereal glow to his pale skin and sunken eyes, he would have stood out anywhere else, but in this strange rendition of the forest and clearing that Dean found himself in, it was Dean, and not the man, who didn't fit. Dean who was a misplaced and living phantom in a place that so clearly belonged to the dead.

"You must be Jasper," Dean said, his hands forming loose fists at his sides as he wished he had a weapon of some kind, something to help hold back the spirit staring him down.

The man remained silent but cocked his head to the side, as if considering Dean, considering the offering that his parents had made to him. Because there was no denying it, that this man, this ghost in front of Dean, was Jasper McLaren. Even in his muted state, Dean could see the red in the man's curls that matched Dottie's, and the shape of his eyes and chin were like almost perfect reflections of those of Hudson.

"Not much of a talker then?" Dean offered up, but the dry smile on his lips as the words passed them died when the man flickered a moment, disappearing before reappearing directly in front of Dean.

Swallowing hard, Dean made to take a step back, but his heel felt the edge of the pond, slipping a moment before finding purchase once more in the dirt. He took a deep breath, gaze moving over the silent spirit, studying, watching, waiting, but before he could do more than that, before he could say anything further, Jasper lunged forward.

Fingers laced into the fabric of Dean's shirt, holding on tight as they both tumbled backward and through the surface of the pond, going down, down, down, deeper and deeper into the cold and murky waters. Darkness wrapped itself around Dean, his chest tightening, body struggling more than he knew it should; desperation, fear, panic flooding his system.

No. No. No. He struggled against the water, against Jasper, against the memory of Michael. The memory of drowning, being powerless to escape. But the more he struggled, the more he thrashed and fought, the tighter the grip grew, the more pressure pushed down on him, his lungs screaming in protest until body gave in despite the fact his head knew he shouldn't. Mouth gasping for air that wasn't there, taking in water instead, that burned down through his throat, settling in his lungs, sending his head spinning.

A faint trickle of light played across Jasper's face as it pressed ever closer to Dean, the sudden shock of the sight causing another involuntary gasp, more water flooding in. He was drowning in despair, losing the battle his body didn't feel equipped to fight. Everything felt heavy and thick and hopeless, but he tore at the fingers still gripping him tight. He tugged and pulled and yanked, until he finally gained enough of an advantage to break free. But even then, he wasn't in the clear.

He pushed upward, kicking out at Jasper, pushing the ghost of a man down and away, as Dean struggled up. Nails dragged at his legs, but he pushed on despite it. He fought against the dizziness and darkness, and he fought against the weight of his own body in the water, the desperate need for air making every movement, every stroke and push, harder than the last.

Stars danced somewhere above the surface of the water, glistening through the darkness, giving him something to aim for. Up and up and up, through endless depths, until finally, the water washed away, along with the pond and the night sky and the forest all around him. He sucked in fresh air, his eyes wide open and staring up toward a wooden ceiling as his body seemed to float for a moment in nothingness, before the sensation of scratchy sheets and a lumpy mattress pressed in on his back.

As he lay there breathing, taking it all in, the thick thumping in his ears, the tightness leaving his chest, he began to realise that this time… he truly was awake.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to relax, tension leaving his body. Judging by the grey light, it was early morning – the chorus of birds singing echoing the sentiment as they welcomed the new day. It was soothing, and he let his mind wander, away from the dream or whatever it was he had been trapped in, feeling the warmth and safety of the room, drinking it in.

It was a few more moments before he trusted himself to open his eyes again, trusted that his heart had calmed inside his chest, that he could breathe normally once more, his head no longer thick and spinning.

Aside from the dream, the last thing he remembered was being thrown into that tree by whatever had risen from the cauldron. From there, everything was blank. Sam had been shouting though, he vaguely remembered that, which would explain why he was now laid on a bed and not on the forest floor. Sam had brought him back to their motel room, but from what Dean could see and hear, he was alone there.

The thick aftertaste of restless sleep coated his tongue and he pulled a face, making to sit up in hopes of going in search of a drink or toothbrush, or of Sam. But his movements were immediately hindered, and whilst he managed to sit up, he found the sharp tug of metal around his wrist kept him from leaving the bed.

"Great," he groaned, turning his wrist over and studying the handcuff that held him in place. "Just… _great._ "

Almost as if in answer, a rattling of keys followed by the creaking of door hinges came from his left, drawing Dean's attention toward the doorway leading to the outside. When Sam appeared from behind the frame, Dean couldn't help the grin that split his face or the relief that flooded through him. From what he could tell, Sam was safe and unharmed – no obvious injuries aside from a little bruising on his chin.

"Sam…" he breathed out, the lazy smile still sitting on his face as he felt his body relax.

But Sam was a little more cautious, hesitant even as he looked Dean over, eyes and tone questioning. "Dean?"

At that, Dean scoffed. "Who else would I be?"

Sam pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow, the look saying more than any words could. "How are you feeling?"

"You mean am I me?"

Sam nodded, entering the room fully, a coffee in each hand. He placed them down on the table nearby, dropping the keys to the room and Impala down next to them.

"Yes, Sam – it's me. And I'm just _great_ by the way. Aside from the part where I'm handcuffed to a friggin' bed." Dean tugged at the handcuff for emphasis, metal rattling against wood.

Sam dug into his pocket at that and pulled a smaller key free. In one swift and easy movement, he tossed it toward Dean whilst walking further into the room. Dean caught it just as easily, but when he opened his hand, he found an iron bolt there instead. Raising an eyebrow, he looked up to Sam, taking in the somewhat sheepish smile on his brother's face and the light shrug of his shoulders.

"Really?" Dean questioned, placing the bolt down on the sheets in order to take the real key that Sam now held out to him.

"Hey, can't be too careful," was Sam's answer, but there was something in his eyes that suggested there was more to the story. He took a seat on the edge of his own bed, ever watchful gaze never leaving Dean. "How are you feeling, _really_?"

"You already asked me that," Dean pointed out, unlocking the handcuff and rubbing at his wrist once it was free. He paused a moment at the sight of the rope burns there, his mind disappearing back to the clearing, to the stinging of his skin, and to lingering memories from long before.

"Dean," Sam continued, breaking into Dean's thoughts, "we should get you checked out. Maybe call Cas, or Rowena?"

"What? Why?"

But that look in his brother's eyes chilled Dean… worry, fear, uncertainty. His words were as careful as the look. "The spell the McLaren's were working – we don't know how it might have affected you."

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean answered, gaze hard and bored, eyebrows raised. Yeah, he was dreaming of ghosts and drowning, and he ached from head to toe, but he was fine. Just fine. Dottie was dead and Hudson was… "Hey – what happened to Hudson? Did you get him?"

Sam shook his head. "He got away."

"Great."

Hudson was still alive. Which meant they weren't finished in town yet. The case was still open. The thought left Dean with a familiar gnawing feeling of unfinished business in his gut. It didn't help matters that this case had become personal. Or maybe it had been personal all along? From the pain radiating out from Dean's head wound to the slash on his arm, the scar across Hudson's face and the déjà vu that plagued Dean more and more. Finishing the job meant putting something to bed that Dean hadn't even realised needed it.

He let go of a huff and pushed up from the bed, rolling the kinks out of his shoulders as he did so before pulling a face at the whiff of sweat and dirt. Oh yeah, he definitely needed to freshen up.

"Where do you think you're going?" Sam questioned, words breaking through the deep fog of thoughts Dean had fallen into and bringing his movements to a pause.

"Well, I was going to take a shower," Dean answered, hitching a thumb toward the bathroom. "Unless we've got an urgent lead on where we can find Hudson to take the son of a bitch down?"

Sam's face told him that was a no. They did not. But rather than address the question, the youngest Winchester was still determined to discuss the matter of just how perfectly fine Dean was. "We need to talk about what happened, back in the woods."

"I'm fine, Sam." Dean held his hands up and out in front of him. "I feel fine. What I need is a shower and some grub – maybe a beer or two, then we can talk about whatever you want to talk about while we hunt that son of a bitch Hudson down and finish the job, but I'm fine. I swear."

Whilst it was clear Sam was far from satisfied with that answer, he relented and waved his hand toward the bathroom door, offering up a deep sigh but keeping his thoughts to himself. There was certainly more on his mind than what had happened in that clearing, and Dean was damn curious about it all. Such as why Eddie had been there, how Sam had found him in the first place. But Dean decided to file that all away under 'to deal with later', because right in that moment, he just wanted twenty minutes to freshen up so he didn't feel, and smell, like road kill.

"Thank you," Dean breathed out, gathering up some clean clothes and heading through the door into the small motel bathroom.

Once the door was closed behind him, his shoulders sagged and he ran a hand across his brow, flinching when he caught the wound bordering his hairline. He let go of a hiss and moved toward the mirror above the sink for a better look. Much like the slash on his arm from Dottie's knife, it looked like Sam had cleaned up the wound as best he could, Steri-strips in place over the deep cut. He prodded at it, grimacing as he did so, before leaving it be and turning his attention to the shower.

It didn't take long for him to strip down and climb in, happy with the release the water gave him. The steady stream ran over his face and down his back, washing away dried on blood and dirt, easing aching muscles, and soothing his mind. For a full ten minutes, he felt at peace. He could have stayed like that for another half hour at least, if that feeling from before hadn't come slowly creeping back in. The one that told him he was not alone.

He shut the shower off and grabbed the closest towel, giving his face and hair a quick dry before wrapping it around his waist and pulling the curtain open. Nothing. There was no one there but him, and the only sounds came from the slow dripping from the showerhead and faint voices in the other room. He was losing his friggin' mind. That was the only explanation. Getting paranoid in his old age from too many knocks to the head.

The steam from the shower still coated the walls of the bathroom as he finished drying himself down and made a start at getting dressed. He got as far as his pulling his jeans on and fastening them before he felt a chill wash over him, its cool caress spreading goose bumps across his skin. Pausing, he pushed out a breath, brow burrowing as it clung to the air in front of him before dispelling a moment later.

"Well, that can't be good."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_Bobby took the boys into town and said they were fine, Dean was fine, until they came across an old man with a cane walking down the street. He says Dean froze and wouldn't move. So when they got back, he grilled Dean until the kid finally admitted he keeps dreaming about an old man dragging him under water._

_I don't know what it means, but it's got to be related to the attack somehow. There was a small pond in the woods, near where I found the rope. That's got to be where the attack happened. But what I still can't figure out is why Dean would be out there in the first place? Not unless he was taken there by this thing pretending to be an old man._

_But why? All the other victims were attacked closer to town. Why go to the trouble of moving Dean out into the woods? Unless this one was different._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	10. Chapter 10

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Chapter 10

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With narrowed eyes, Dean straightened up, gaze searching the small bathroom for anything out of place, until it finally landed on the fogged up mirror. He took a step forward, head tilting ever so slightly as he focused on the shadow lurking behind the shoulder of his blurred reflection. A moment of hesitation, then he swiped a hand across the mirror, wiping away the fog to reveal red hair and sunken eyes staring at him instead of dirty blond and bright hazel green.

Swallowing the thick lump forming in his throat, he raised a hand, slow and steady, watching as the reflection did the same. It mimicked the opening and closing of his fist, each movement perfectly precise. From the burrowed brow to the tension in his shoulders, the reflection would have been a perfect replica – had it only been his. It was only when he opened his mouth to shout for Sam that the charade was broken, and with it, the mirror shattered also.

Glass exploded outward toward Dean, a thick grey mist bursting out with it. But before he could react, he was thrown backward, his body slamming into the bathroom door. The mist took on the shape of Jasper, ghostly hand wrapped tight around Dean's neck and pushing him up and away from the floor. Pinned against the door, choking as his feet dangled in mid air.

He tried to force out Sam's name, but it died in his throat, Jasper's fingers digging in deeper, cutting him off. Dean's own fingers tried to pull the ghostly grip free, but they slipped straight through the hand, as if trying to grab hold of air and nothing more. Heart pounding so loud inside his ears, he barely heard Sam's desperate shout on the other side of the door, or his brother's fist banging hard against the wood as the handle rattled.

"Dean!" Sam called, again, and again. "Dean!"

The door moved an inch, opening. But in the next moment, it was slammed closed once more. The force that was Jasper pushed Dean further up the door, grip tightening around his neck. Already spots were dancing across Dean's vision, even as Sam's pounding on the door stopped to be replaced by his body slamming into it. Dean felt each and every slam against his back, but the door refused to give way. Jasper refused to let go.

"Dean! Answer me!"

And if he could have, he would have, but his throat burned for air and refused to sound out any of the words that circled his mind. The buzzing in his ears grew louder, his body growing weaker. For the briefest of moments, a familiar thought flashed across his mind. Would this be the one? Would this be the fight he couldn't win?

"Luath airson dust…" Faded words trickled through the haze, barely there at first, but the more they spoke, the longer they went on, the less hold Jasper seemed to have on him. "Tionndaidh thu gu far a bheil thu…"

The words continued on, until finally Jasper let go and Dean found himself on the floor, unsure exactly of what had happened in between. He tried to blink away the spots and focus his eyes, looking up to see the anger flaring across Jasper's face. The ghost made to take a step forward, but the words continued and instead he let go of a shrill scream that had Dean covering his ears with his hands as Jasper flickered and disappeared, leaving behind a cold and empty patch of air.

The next thing Dean knew, Sam was in front of him, hands on the sides of Dean's face, guiding his gaze upward whilst also gently twisting his head, looking for injuries. It took Dean a moment to gather himself, taking in the worried creases across Sam's forehead and the sheen in his widened eyes. But once his mind was no longer reeling from oxygen starvation, Dean was swatting away Sam's hands – though he did allow his brother to help him up from the bathroom floor and guide him back towards the main room.

"What was that?" Sam questioned from behind him, but even in his still confused state, Dean knew the question wasn't aimed at him.

Dean raised his eyes to take Eddie in as he passed the old hunter by on the way to the bed. The shower was supposed to make him feel clean, but after that encounter with Jasper, he was left feeling dirtier than ever.

"You boys never heard of a spirit banishing spell before?" Eddie growled out, each word more incredulous than the last. "And here I was thinking you boys were hunters."

"Banishing spell?" Dean narrowed his gaze on Eddie as he dropped down onto the edge of the closest bed, choosing to ignore the insult from the hunter in favour of curiosity. "So what? That's it? Lights out for Jasper?"

Eddie let go of a harsh scoff. "For now. It ain't no miracle solution, but it does the job to buy you some time if you ain't got no iron or salt on hand."

"He'll be back then?" Dean scrubbed a hand across his face and let go of a low grumble before absently rubbing at his throat and the bruises he could already feel forming there.

"That's generally what ghosts do, yeah," Eddie answered, the mocking lining each word loud and clear, tainting them. "But hey, if you'd rather I hadn't saved your sorry ass, I'm sure I can find a way to summon your friendly ghost back to finish the job?"

Dean said nothing in reply, but clenched his jaw and gave Sam a hard, bored stare that said everything. Why is _he_ here? Wasn't the aged hunter trying to run them out of town only less than a day ago? Something had clearly happened whilst the McLarens had been busy drugging and abducting Dean – something that involved the pieces of paper Sam was busy collecting from the table nearby.

"Here," the youngest said, holding the paper out to Dean and taking a step back when Dean took them. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up before placing his hands on his hips to stand akimbo.

"What is this?" Dean waved the papers a moment, looking between Sam and Eddie before finally lowering his gaze to the ever familiar writing of his father. He swallowed hard as realisation sank in and he was faced with another missing puzzle piece that made up the man that was John Winchester.

"The missing journal pages," Sam answered, even though he no doubt knew it didn't really need saying. But there was something in his voice, a tightness to his words, that set Dean on edge ever so slightly, and his eyes were ever watchful, the concern bleeding out into the room, smothering Dean with a cautious tentativeness.

Eyes scanning the pages, Dean flipped through each entry with a burrowed brow, skimming the words and barely taking them in at first. He took a steadying breath and went back to the beginning, taking his time to read through events that he barely even remembered. The kappa, arriving at New Hope, the diner and the infamous pie. They were shadows of memories, echoes that had happened so long ago they had become distorted in his mind. As for the rest of it? Well it fit, with what Dottie and Hudson had said, with the feeling of familiarity and déjà vu, the flashes of memories that passed across his mind, as if they hadn't happened to him, but to someone else. As if they were from an old movie he hadn't seen in years.

"I don't…" he started, but the words failed him. "This…"

"The reason Dad took the pages out, the reason he never told us about this job – he was protecting us," Sam supplied, and he lowered himself down onto the spare bed, never once taking his eyes off of Dean. "He knew if we came back here, if _you_ came back, whatever was doing the killings would try again."

"Your Daddy just never quite got 'round to figuring out what it was." Eddie leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, hands deep in his jacket pockets as he looked out at the pair of them. "He had his theories, but by the time he got back after getting you out, the killings stopped. And well, you weren't exactly the most forthcoming witness."

Dean turned back to the pages in his grasp, running through the journal entries once more and focusing on the later ones that rambled on about the properties of yucca and its uses in spell work. The entries that mentioned hosts and possession and witches and bodachs. "Okay, so I get all this. I get the McLarens were working their magic to try and bring back their dead son – which by the way, over parenting much? Hell, I even get why Dad would keep this from us. What I don't get is why Jasper tried to jump my bones just now when we stopped our two Dr Frankenstein's from finishing the spell?"

Sam cleared his throat and lowered his gaze a moment, looking somewhat sheepish as he shuffled and adjusted his position as if suddenly uncomfortable. "That's where things get a little… complicated?"

"Complicated?" Dean repeated, and he placed the papers down on the bed beside him in favour of splaying his hands out in questioning. "Complicated, how?"

"What he means is," Eddie offered up, "he spoke to your witch, and by her best guess – we were too late."

"Dean, Rowena said that a spell of this magnitude, it would require a sacrifice. A living one. I think that's where they went wrong last time and why you managed to escape. The spell wasn't strong enough."

"Except there was no sacrifice," Dean started, but even as the words left his mouth, he could feel his features falling as he began to understood the look in Sam's eyes, Dottie's last words running through his mind. Blood for blood. Life for life. "Dottie…"

Sam merely nodded, slow and solemn, his throat working.

"So what you're saying is, I'm being haunted by Jasper back there whilst he tries to find the right time to possess me?"

Again, Sam nodded. "Seems that way."

"Awesome… just, awesome." Dean let go of a low groan and opened his arms up once more. "So what's the plan? How do we get rid of this son of a witch?"

"Well, usually we'd salt and burn whatever the spirit is attached to… Bones, hair, a personal item…"

"Thank you, Captain Obvious. Except I'm pretty sure Dottie used whatever was left of Jasper in the spell. So what's keeping our ghost here? What's he attached to?"

Eddie and Sam shared a look, the meaning behind it washing over Dean and leaving him feeling even more in the dark. He raised his arms, prompting for Sam to answer or explain, but rather than offer up an explanation, instead the youngest raised an eyebrow and met Dean's gaze with an uncertain one.

"Do you really have to ask?"

"What?" Dean questioned. "Am I missing something here?"

At that, Eddie let go of a harsh and low laugh, mouth twisting into an almost sadistic smile. "My dear God, you really are about as slow as a pile of rocks trying to roll uphill."

"I'm sorry, did I ask your opinion?" Dean fought the urge to push up from the bed and stalk toward the elder hunter, his jaw tightening as he sent a glare Eddie's way. But all frustration and anger slipped away as Sam spoke up, his next words sending a chill through Dean.

"You, Dean," Sam answered. "You're the _thing_ that Jasper is attached to."

"First step haunting," Eddie continued where Sam left off. "Next step – possession."

"Well then, that's just perfect." Dean pushed up from the bed and began to pace as what Sam and Eddie were telling him sunk in further. He could have stayed in denial, but that wouldn't have done any of them any good. Still, didn't mean he had to like it. "So what now?"

Sam watched him, patient and careful as ever; his tone and posture relaxed, but not because he was. Dean knew his brother too well. Whilst Sam was usually the more level-headed of the pair, it didn't mean he wasn't worried or scared out of his mind – his eyes gave those such emotions away. "We wait. I called Rowena and she's looking into a few things. Hopefully by the end of the day, we'll have a spell we can use to undo what the McLarens did."

"Until then, Sonny Jim," Eddie continued where Sam left off, moving toward his bag on the table as he did so. He dug inside and pulled out a container which he threw toward Dean with a little more force than was really necessary, "you better batten down the hatches and make yourself comfortable."

Dean caught the container and turned it over in his hands before raising an eyebrow at Eddie. "Salt? You're joking, right?" He looked to Sam and hitched a thumb toward Eddie. "He's joking, right? You expect me to hole up here, behind a line of salt, and just hide? Until Rowena comes up with a spell or Jasper finds a way to break through, whichever comes first?"

"It's the best we've got for now," Sam answered on a shrug.

Dean huffed out and looked down at the salt once more before pointing a finger at Sam and Eddie in turn. "For the record – I think it's a crap plan and I don't like it."

"And I don't like the way the arthritis in my shoulder kicks up a fuss when it rains," Eddie retorted, "but I live with it and I keep on ticking to fight another day. Now how about you shut up and go salt the windows."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The day dragged by, each minute feeling more agonisingly slow than the last. Eddie had disappeared to try and hunt down Hudson whilst Sam took a seat at the table with his laptop and a few books, digging into lore on bodachs and resurrection spells. That left Dean to sprawl across his bed with his own laptop set across his legs, John's journal – along with the additional pages – open on one side, and a now empty Styrofoam container on the other that had once contained chilli fries.

Absentmindedly, he stuck his fingers into the container, never once taking his gaze away from the screen, until he realised his fingers were grasping at nothing but leftover grease and sauce. He let go of a long breath at the empty container, the feeling of frustration creeping in once more. At least the food had kept him distracted from the fact he had been cooped up in the room for several hours now and there was still no end in sight.

Sucking at the sauce on his fingertips one by one, he twisted his wrist enough to see his watch and flashed a glance toward the unmoving door to the room. "Shouldn't he be back by now?"

"Who?" Sam questioned, half hearted, head still buried in the screen and books in front of him. "Eddie?"

"No, the Jolly Green Giant. _Yes_ , Eddie. Mr Groucho McGrouch, with his arthritis and his 'Sonny Jim' and ' _Boy'_. He does realise we're full grown men, right?"

A sly smile slipped onto Sam's lips but he still didn't look up from what he was working on. "Well, some of us are – others are still stuck at the mental age of twelve."

Dean let go of a fake laugh, dry and bitter. "That's… I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer – and not because I don't have one."

The triumph that glistened in Sam's eyes as he finally looked up made it clear that he youngest knew he had won, but he said nothing further on the matter. "You know, Dean, you should give Eddie a break. He's one of the good guys."

"He lied to us, Sam."

"He was trying to keep us safe."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well."

Sam closed his laptop and focused fully on Dean. "Who are you really mad at here, Dean? Eddie… or Dad?"

Dean let go of a scoff and rolled his eyes. "This has nothing to do with Dad."

Even as the lie slipped passed his lips, his gaze found the pages from the journal beside him. He had read them and reread them and then read them again for good measure. The words circled his mind, pulling at loose threads and shaking loose crumbs that had long become stuck.

"Sure," Sam answered, his eyebrows rising to match the scepticism in his voice. "I mean, it's not like the guy kept an entire hunt from us that involved, what? Fourteen year old you being kidnapped? A hunt that, might I add, he thought might return one day to bite us all on the proverbial ass?"

"The guy had his reasons," Dean began, but that was as far as he got, his chest growing tight and blood burning hot with anger. Even he was having a hard time defending his father's actions in that moment.

"Really, Dean?"

"What do you want me to say? I'm pissed at the guy." He closed his own laptop screen and splayed his hands out in front of him. "He had no right keeping this from us. From _me_. We've been working blind from the start, but if we had known…" He let go of a breath before swallowing hard and shaking his head. "He should have trusted us, man."

He couldn't say he didn't understand his father's actions and there was no denying, if he had been in his father's shoes, he would have probably done the same. Hell, there had been plenty of times he wished he could go back and keep a young Sam from half of the crap he had been through, and there had been plenty of times when he had tried to carry the weight alone. It never ended well.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he let go of a snort, lip quirking up a little in dark amusement at the situation. Even at his age, with everything they had accomplished, all the evil they had stopped – there was still that part of him that sought his father's approval.

"Dean," Sam started, no doubt intent on continuing the conversation until they hugged it out with some good old therapy – but Dean wasn't going to give him the chance.

He cleared his throat loudly, interrupting whatever Sam had to say and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He placed own laptop down on the sheets and motioned with his head toward Sam's. Distract and deflect. "You find anything?"

There was a hint of defeat in the lines of Sam's face, but it quickly faded and he turned his attention to his laptop, opening it up again with a pursing of lips and a light shrug. "Not much. I mean, bodachs originate from Gaelic folklore and date back centuries but there's nothing concrete. The most I can find is that it's likely they got their powers from making a deal with the devil."

"Lucifer?" Dean questioned with a burrowed brow.

"Most likely just ambitious crossroad demons, like Crowley. But it means that they don't just rely on spells to do magic and considering Hudson has definitely been around for a lot more than ten years, it makes you wonder, you know?"

"What did he bargain to keep from going to hell?"

"Exactly." Sam clicked at the keys and made to open his mouth one more, but he was silenced by the sound of his phone ringing out on the table beside him. He looked at it and then to Dean before answering, pushing the speakerphone button and holding it out in front of him. "Hey, Rowena, you got something?"

"Yes… and no," she answered.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean questioned, pushing up from the bed and heading toward the table to look down at the phone.

"Well if it isn't Sleeping Beauty. Good to hear you're awake and not… you know."

"Rowena…"

She let go of a light cough. "Yes, alright… I get it. Get to the point, right? Well, the point is, in order to get rid of your ghostie, you'll need to break the spell, and in order to break the spell, you'll need the one who cast it."

"Hudson," Sam spoke up, meeting Dean's gaze.

"So what? We smoke Hudson and that's it? The spell breaks?" Dean asked, already knowing it could never be that easy.

"Oh, Dear," Rowena answered, and Dean imagined her to be shaking her head, "if only it were that simple. No, you need him alive – at least for now."

"Why?"

"Because, you're going to turn the spell back around onto him, my laddie, that's why."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_It's been a good few days since I got back into New Hope, but I'm still no further forward. As far as I can tell, there haven't been any more dead bodies or missing people. Newspaper reported an attack the same night Dean went missing, but the details are vague and the police aren't talking. Mugging gone wrong is the most they're saying. Who knows, maybe they're right? But something doesn't feel right._

_Bobby called with a few theories he's been working on since the last time we spoke. Kelpies typically drag their victims into water, like in Dean's dream, but they don't usually appear as people. Still, I'll take another look by the pond just in case. Then there's something called a devalpa. Disguises itself as an old man asking for help that'll work someone until they die. My personal favourite, though? A bodach. Male witches with powerful magic – tricksters of sorts. I asked Bobby to look into it more for me._

_I could hear Dean teasing Sam about something or other in the background. He sounds better, more like himself again. My boys… How am I supposed to keep them safe? How am I supposed to give them a normal life? Was that ever really an option?_

_Oh, Mary, I don't know what I'm doing. I wish you were here…_

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	11. Chapter 11

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Chapter 11

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A yawn started at the back of Sam's throat and made its way forward. At first he tried to stifle it, but his bleary eyes and aching shoulders made it difficult and it broke free. He held the back of his hand against his open mouth and blinked at the bright laptop screen in front of him, the glaring light making it difficult for him to focus on the words and pictures displayed there. Given that it was so late it could now be considered early, he shouldn't have been surprised by the tiredness settling over him like a thick blanket, but dawn had crept in as he worked hard. Worked hard, but gotten nowhere.

He let go of a long breath and closed the laptop before stretching out his arms and rolling the kinks from his neck. Since Rowena had gotten back to them with a spell that could potentially solve their current problem, Sam had continued researching bodachs whilst also trying to track down any potential sightings of Hudson. He had put out an APB on both Hudson and his SUV, and he had his phone beside him on the table at the ready for any alerts that pinged up from the local police.

So far though, the only thing to have come back was that the SUV had turned up in town earlier in the day, abandoned in some back alley. Eddie had gone to check it out, but he hadn't picked up any leads. According to the older hunter, there had been nothing at the McLaren's home and nothing at their diner either. Bupkis, as Dean had put it, calling from across the room when Eddie had called earlier.

A low and grumbling snore brought Sam's attention to his brother, sprawled out on one of the beds with his mouth hanging open and drool slipping free from the corner to coat his chin and pillow. His laptop was abandoned beside him, but still whirring away, open but screen dim from the screensaver that had replaced whatever Dean had been looking at before he had fallen asleep.

A small smile played across Sam's lips at the sight and he shook his head, pushing up from his seat and moving over to his brother. He would have woken the eldest Winchester, hell, he probably should have, but Jasper had yet to make any further appearances and Dean was beyond exhausted. So instead, he closed Dean's laptop down and picked up both it and John's journal, placing both on the table alongside Sam's own research.

"We're going to stop him, Dean," Sam promised his sleeping brother, as he covered the eldest Winchester with a blanket. "I swear. I won't let you get possessed… not again."

Dean grunted in his sleep and turned over, but other than that, he remained silent, his hand falling down off the side of the bed, fingertips inches away from tracing the salt circle Sam had placed around the bed. The room was as secure as they could make it, but that didn't mean Sam wasn't above taking extra precautions.

After losing his brother to Michael for so long, Sam wasn't prepared to let someone else slip in and take over now he finally had Dean back and returning to some form of normality. Being possessed by the archangel had taken its toll, and Sam could see it, even now – in the way Dean would clench up at the mention of the angel, or the way he would disappear inside himself, as if his mind was somewhere else.

Sam thought back to his own time, trapped in Lucifer's grips, and even though the devil of an angel had returned countless times after, Sam had at least initially felt some satisfaction in knowing his actions had led to locking Lucifer back up in the cage. But he even so, he remembered how he had felt – used, his body manipulated against his will like the puppet of a sadistic puppeteer. It wasn't the first time he had been possessed, and it was certainly not the only time either of them had had their bodies used by some supernatural entity, but it was different with an archangel. It left its mark, deep inside the soul itself.

He scrubbed his hands across his face before pushing them up and backwards through his hair, letting go of another yawn as he did so. It wouldn't be long before sleep came to claim him, but before then, Sam wanted to check the room one last time. Doors locked, windows closed tight. Salt lines down, and a few spray painted glyphs meant to ward off spirits, all still intact. Guns loaded with witch killing bullets, in case Hudson turned up, and shotguns loaded with rock salt in case Jasper did. But still… something scratched at the back of Sam's mind, prickled at his skin, even as he climbed into his own bed hoping for a couple of hours before they started all over again tomorrow. Something kept his eyes open and ears listening that little bit longer, until he could fight it no more, and his body caved, giving into a brief slumber despite the unrest in his chest and mind.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean knew he was dreaming. The moment he opened his eyes and found himself once more in that familiar clearing, the bark of the tree rough against his back through his thin t-shirt, his head clouded and foggy, like the edges of his vision. His body was both his own and not, all at once – a younger version of himself, shorter, thinner, the body of a child, of a teen. And like a typical bad dream, his body would not move, no matter how much he willed it to. He felt like a hitchhiker, merely watching the world around him, unable to act or react. A mere observer to a movie he vaguely recognised.

The ropes around his wrists burned, with each tug he didn't command but felt; a full on 5D experience, complete with sight and sound and touch and the smell of damp brush and taste of bitter copper in his mouth. But the scene flickered, the dream shifting to show he was no longer alone in the clearing. A thump, scrape, thump, scrape, echoed through the hollow air, and a man edged in from across the fog, his limp prominent, back hunched over ever so slightly with the weight of his age, and though Dean couldn't see the man's face clearly, he imagined it be lined and weathered from years upon the earth, a faint memory dancing around in the shadows of his mind.

The scene flickered once more and the man was gone. The thump, scrape, was replaced by heavy breathing – no, frightened breathing, which he quickly realised was coming from himself. He swallowed hard and his eyes darted back and forth across the clearing, searching for the man, fear speeding up his heart when he couldn't find him.

Then everything froze, his whole body stilled, except for the thumping in his chest. A clammy hand gripped his wrist, dirt breath warm against the side of his face, cold steel harsh against his forearm.

"This might sting a little," said the crooked old voice of a crooked old man, with a crooked old limp.

The blade cut into Dean and he called out in pain, the cry of a boy trying so hard to be a man. It lasted only a moment, and when it was gone, so was the hand and breath. The man no longer behind him, but in front once more, by the small pond that seemed to glow in the darkness. The man stalked back and forth across the water's edge, open book in his hands, words twisting around his tongue and out into the air.

Again, the image flickered, merging into another in a distorted and jerky way – one moment the man was facing the water, and in the next he was several steps away, closer to the tree line with no sign of how he got there. The whole time, Dean fought against the ropes until they finally fell away and he was pulling himself up from the ground as the man looked out over the water once more.

Dean was given only a moment to rub at the burns on his wrists, attempting to ignore the bloody wound on his arm and they way it made him sway a little in the darkness, before he pushed away from the tree – away from the man and the water that seemed to call out to him. He turned his back on it all and forced his feet to move forward, into the darkness and shadows of the forest ahead.

He barely even made it more than a few feet when he felt a force gripping him, dragging him backward until he stumbled and landed on his back with a pained oomph. When he looked up, it was into a familiar crooked old face that he knew he recognised, even if he couldn't say from where, cold eyes staring down at him. He made to roll away, but the man was faster despite his age. He swooped down and gripped hold of Dean's young shoulders before dragging him up from the dirt.

He was stronger than he looked too, because despite how much Dean kicked and fought and tried to get away, the man was still able to drag him backwards, toward the waiting water. It was only after a particularly painful jab to the old man's ribs from Dean's elbow that Dean managed to slip free, if only for a moment. But it was all in vain.

All the brief escape earned him was a bad head wound as the man threw him down to the ground and smashed his forehead against a large rock for good measure. From there, the dream faded in and out, darkness replacing missing patches of time as the man dragged a much more listless Dean back toward the pond.

He was thrown down onto all fours into the dirt at the water's edge, struggling to focus, to catch his breath, to even move. He could only listen – to his pounding heart, to the strange words floating in the air around him, to the bubbling of the water. He didn't dare look, didn't dare raise his head, but he wasn't given a choice in the matter when rough fingers wove their way into his hair and yanked his head back, forcing Dean's widened gaze to look out at the waters and the grey and clammy hands that dug into the dirt of the bank from down in the depths.

Fingernails dragged at the muck, hair and head emerging from the water, the dark and sunken eyes of Jasper locking on Dean. The movements were slow at first, but then the image of the man flickered and his face was up against Dean's, mere inches away, cold breath chilling Dean. Dean was frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to will his body to move, unable to truly think of anything beyond those eyes that bore into his own.

Jasper's hands shot out to grip Dean's upper arms, fingernails digging in as the spirit's mouth opened wide to reveal an endless abyss that seemed to want to want to swallow Dean whole. And Dean could feel himself falling, could feel himself slipping, and he was sure he would have fallen completely, if not for the voice calling his name.

"Dean!" The voice was distant, like it came from the shadows of his mind, and at first, it did little to shake him from his stupor, until it called again. "Dean!"

He closed his eyes tight and when he opened them again, he found himself no longer face to face with Jasper or hollow eyes or open abyss. Instead, Sam's face hovered in front of him, brow burrowed with lines of worry, and Dean began to realise he was no longer lying in bed where had fallen asleep and slipped into the nightmare. Instead, he was standing halfway across the room, several steps away from the door leading to the outside world. The only thing between him and that door was Sam and his grip on Dean's arms.

Dean frowned, struggling to make sense of it at first, one foot still in the dream. "Sam?"

Sam let go of a long breath, the tension visibly lessening in his shoulders. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"I…" Dean started, turning back toward the room, studying the messed up sheets on his bed and the blanket on the floor beside it, strewn across the broken salt line. "I was dreaming…"

Slowly, Sam removed his hands from Dean, as if reluctant to do so, but he held them out to guide Dean away from the door and toward the chairs and table instead. He didn't say anything else until Dean was sat in one chair and he had lowered himself into the other.

"Dreaming?" Sam questioned, the disbelief in his tone clear, eyebrow rising as he looked Dean over cautiously.

"Yes," he answered, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinking several times in an attempt to shake his sleep addled brain fully awake, "dreaming. The thing you do while you're asleep."

"Dean, you were less than a minute away from walking out that door – that's no ordinary dream."

"Yes, thank you, Captain Obvious." Dean let go of a growl, unable to meet Sam's eyes, his gaze instead falling to the table between them. It lingered on his father's journal and a light frown tugged at his face as the memory of the words washed over him. He pulled it toward him and flipped it open to where the once missing pages stuck out. "It was more like a nightmare really, like I was remembering what happened all those years ago but something was off… like everything was all muddled together. Mixed up and wrong."

His eyes skimmed the pages until he came across the entry and the words that niggled at him. It was from the aftermath, when John had left both of them with Bobby so he could return to the town. Dean ran a finger over the words before swinging the journal around and pushing it toward Sam, tapping the page as he did so. In the back of his mind, he could see those cold eyes from the dream staring at him; the crooked old man with the crooked old limp watching.

"In my dream, I was back in the woods but it wasn't Hudson – not the Hudson we know anyway. It was an old man."

"So?"

"So – Bobby told Dad that I was having dreams about an old man. What if that's Hudson's true form? Witches have the power to change their appearance and even a person's age, right? Remember the he-witch, Patrick – with the poker chips?"

"The one that you lost your years to?"

"Shut up…" Dean groaned lightly, waving a dismissive hand at the statement, and returning promptly to the topic at hand. "My point is – what if that's what Hudson is doing, to himself? So when Dad came back here all those years ago, he was looking for an old man – not someone in their late forties, early fifties. He wouldn't have even glanced twice at Hudson. And now…"

"Eddie's been out there looking for Hudson…"

"But we should be looking for an old man."

Sam nodded in thoughtful agreement, but Dean didn't wait for him to say anything further, his mind already made up. He pushed up from the chair and grabbed his bag on the way to his bed, pulling out a clean shirt and jeans when he got there. It didn't take long for Sam to catch on, even if he hadn't made any attempt to stand up. Not that Dean blamed him, judging by the redness in his eyes, the youngest had more than likely barely even slept.

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Dean questioned in return, glancing behind him only long enough to take in the burrowed brow and the lengthy, and almost silent, breath from a clearly exhausted Sam.

"Like you're getting ready to head out."

Grin slipping onto his face as he pulled his toothbrush and toothpaste free from his bag also, he pointed the end of the toothbrush to Sam and gave a click with his teeth. "Yahtzee. Give the man a prize."

"Dean…" The drawn out name was followed by the scraping of wood on wood, Sam pushing up and edging forward, toward Dean, like an over cautious and slightly worried zookeeper, with a large needle filled with the good stuff, approaching a wounded lion that hadn't eaten in days.

"Look, Sam, I get it," Dean answered, swinging around to face Sam fully, "we don't know when Jasper is going to strike, but I can't stay cooped up in this room forever, just waiting. I'm already going stir crazy, man. I need to be out there, doing what I do."

"And any other time, I would normally agree with you," Sam countered, holding his hands out, an attempt at placating Dean. "But that, just now, was not normal." He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, toward the spot they had been stood in when Dean woke from his nightmare. "We don't even know what that was."

Dean attempted a shrug, schooling his face to play off the incident as though it was just some freak thing that would most definitely not happen again. It was difficult to do when his own chest tightened and the voice at the back of his mind – the one that often spoke sense and often sounded like a combination of Sam and Bobby – told him that his brother was right. "So I was sleepwalking, big deal."

"You don't sleepwalk, Dean." Sam took a step forward, his stubbornness shining through as he refused to back down. "You said you were having a nightmare. I know you, Dean. I've seen you sleeping since we were kids. I know what it looks like when you're having a good dream and when you're having a _really_ good dream. I know what it looks like when you're passed out drunk. And I know what it looks like when you're having a nightmare, and that – that was not it. That was something else."

Gaze falling away, Dean swallowed at the lump forming in his throat, his tongue snaking out to dampen his suddenly dry lips. He wanted to argue, but there was little he could say on the matter. His thoughts went to his father's journal once more and to the memories that trickled back to him in bits and pieces. If he was honest, he couldn't shake the feeling the dream had left him with; the image of Jasper's eyes clear as day in his mind's eyes, the waters calling out to him, beckoning him closer, and the abyss… that dark abyss that wanted to swallow him whole – the way he had been drawn to it, unable to tear his gaze away. It scared him in a way he didn't care to admit out loud, and brought back much more recent memories of drowning in his own mind whilst Michael had taken his body for a ride.

"Okay, you've got me," Dean started, taking a breath and squaring his shoulders, straightening his back as he spoke, "was it a little weird? Yeah, sure. Should we be worried? Probably. But it doesn't change the fact that Jasper is going to try again, whether I'm locked up in this motel room or not. He's going to make his move, and so far, the only hope we have of stopping him is to find Hudson and use the spell Rowena gave us. So we can sit around and mope and worry until the cows come home, or we can get out there and hunt this son of a bitch down so I can get back to doing my job."

Sam looked Dean over, the worry never leaving his eyes the whole time. It took him a moment to respond, but when he did, it was with a light nod of his head as he breathed in deep before pushing the breath out through his nose as he pressed his lips together in thought. "Fine, but no risk taking. I mean it, Dean. If we do this, we play it safe. No playing the hero and going off on your own, getting yourself possessed."

"Would I ever?"

And the look Sam gave him, with his unimpressed raised eyebrow, was answer enough.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – July 1993_

_I've been doing some reading into witches and spells with body parts. Closest thing I could find was a link to necromancy and raising the dead. But what's that got to do with Dean? I've got a feeling the flower is the key. I found out it's from a yucca plant, so now I just need to figure out how it all fits together so I can find the person, or thing, responsible and stop them. I won't let them get to Dean. Not again._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	12. Chapter 12

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Chapter 12

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

By the time Sam and Dean arrived in town, parking up along the street opposite the McLaren's home, Eddie was already waiting for them. He stood by his truck, passenger door open, and stared out across the road toward the extremely average house – no candy cane window panes or ginger bread walls. No thick black curtains or left out Halloween decorations that seemed a little bit too realistic to be overlooked entirely. But also, no perfect little garden with a perfect little fence. It was neither one end of the scale or the other, just… average.

Eddie turned to look at the pair as they approached, and Dean couldn't help but eye the coffee cup in the man's hands, the heavy scent of caffeine already filling his senses, and making Dean feel extremely envious of the man. Especially since his stomach growled, reminding him how they had skipped out on breakfast in order to get out of that motel room and meet Eddie. A decision Dean was now regretting.

The older hunter cast them a glance, looking them both up and down with a raised eyebrow before turning away and reaching into his truck. He pulled out a cardboard cup holder, which hugged two throwaway cups, and held it out toward the pair.

"You sounded like you needed these," he said, with a low grumble in his voice, no doubt referencing Sam's phone call earlier that morning. There was no smile on his lips, and his features were schooled in such a permanently unimpressed and aggravated way that Dean suspected a dog could go skateboarding by wearing cowboy hat whilst singing Sweet Home Alabama at the top of its lungs, and the guy still wouldn't flicker.

Sam accepted his coffee with a nod of thanks, but Dean was a little more hesitant, taking another moment before easing the cup free from the holder and bringing the brim of it up to his face, breathing in the sweet smell of caffeine. The only thing that would have made it any better would have been a plate of bacon.

"I think I may have greatly misjudged you, Eddie," Dean said, closing his eyes a moment as he took in another long breath, enjoying the smell and anticipation of taste. When he opened his eyes again, Eddie was watching him with a raised eyebrow.

"You want some alone time with that coffee, or should we get back to the case?"

Dean brushed the comment off, too content with the caffeine he was holding, and whispered into the brim of the cup. "Shhh, he just doesn't understand."

"Don't ask," Sam answered to the questioning look he received from Eddie, rolling his eyes as he took the lid off his own cup. He made no effort to drink it just yet though, focused on Eddie instead. "You found anything new?"

"Nothing," Eddie supplied, nodding towards his truck and the police radio sitting on the dashboard. "Officially, both McLarens were reported missing yesterday morning when someone reported a break in at their diner. But no one has seen or heard from either of them since then."

"Unofficially?" Dean asked and he took another tentative sip of his coffee.

"Well, I burned the witch's body myself and buried what was left out in the woods. As for the other one… He's keeping himself well hidden – even went so far as to dump his SUV so we couldn't trace that."

"I don't think it's just his SUV he's dumped."

"Beg your pardon?"

Sam cleared his throat, drawing the older man's attention to him once more. "Dean has a theory. He thinks Hudson is roaming around town as an old man."

"Oh really?" Eddie raised an eyebrow once more and looked Dean up and down, but didn't say anything further to question how Dean had come up his theory. Instead, Eddie chose to finish whatever remained of his own coffee, discarding the empty cup in his truck. He grabbed the police scanner and attached it to his belt, toying with it a moment before closing the truck door and straightening up. "Well, we best hope there's some clues lying around in that house over there then, 'cause there are a lot of old men in this town and it wouldn't exactly be good practice for us to be shooting the wrong one."

Getting into the house was easy enough – it helped that the door had been previously jimmied, no doubt first by the police when searching the property for the McLarens and then again by Eddie when he had called the previous day. Though he hadn't found anything, he also hadn't known what they did now, about Hudson, and even if he had, Dean still felt it necessary to look for himself.

"Did you find anything from Betty?" Dean asked as they made their way further into the house that was too neat and too quiet. When he received a narrowed look of questioning from both Sam and Eddie, he rolled his hand and waved in Sam's direction. "Beatrice, your hook up at the real estate office – bet she can't wait to meet you in person, Sammy."

"First of all, no… just no." Sam shook his head and Dean could see the temptation for the youngest to roll his eyes at Dean's jibing, but he resisted. "And no. The only properties owned, or rented, by the McLaren's are this house and the diner."

"Then it's got to be under something else. I mean, you clipped him, right? Even a shallow wound like that, he's gotta patch it up at the very least, and since no one's showed up at hospital, he's got to be holed up somewhere – either in town or nearby." Dean was already moving on ahead as he spoke, his feet guiding him through the house. He was sure Sam replied, or maybe Eddie, but their voices faded into the background as he left them behind to wander the rest of the house and he found his way into a small study at the back.

His fingers hovered over the desk as he passed it by, before moving onto the dusty bookshelves. One shelf was boring and ordinary, filled with books and manuals on running a business and several different cookbooks, including what appeared to be a handmade on. It was only when he came across a patch on the shelf that was no longer dusty that he paused. Tilting his head to the side, he considered the shelf and lack of dust before looking to the book.

The spine was worn and old, the words written on it all but faded and most definitely not English. With a gentle tug, Dean pulled it from its place, half expecting a secret mechanism that would cause the bookcase to swing outward, or for there to be something hidden behind the book, but there was nothing. Given that he couldn't even understand the words written in the book he was now holding, he wasn't entirely sure why he felt so compelled to open it and flip through the pages, taking in the hand drawn pictures on every other page. He was almost halfway through when something fell from between the pages and he looked down to the ground to see several photographs had freed themselves from where someone had wedged them.

Closing the book up in one hand with a sharp _clap_ , Dean lowered himself down to his haunches and picked up the photographs with his free hand. There were three in total, each one slightly different than the last in that they were of different places at different times of the days, but all three had one thing in common. They were all photos taken of the outdoors, out in the wilderness. The most faded photo looked to be a good few decades old and showed a serene forest clearing and clear night sky overhead. It wasn't from around there, Dean knew that much. The trees didn't match with the ones in that territory. Sam would have had a better idea which state, or even country, the picture had been taken in. He was a fount of useless knowledge like that.

The second picture was taken at what Dean figured was sunset, on what looked like the edge of a cliff overlooking a vast valley below. Sunlight dripped off of rocks and trees in oranges and reds, a breathtaking sight to behold for sure. He turned the photo over and on the back saw the words 'For Jasper' scribbled there, along with a small promise of him seeing it in person once they found a way to perfect the spell and make him truly alive again.

It was the third photograph though, that truly gave Dean pause. Moonlight played across the surface of a wide and open lake, almost dancing on the light waves that moved back and forth across the surface, and the longer Dean stared, the more he became lost within the photograph, as if something was dragging him under. He swore he could see the waters moving, hear the rushing of water and gentle and relaxing bubbling. He could almost hear the night time creatures, calling out in the distance, could practically feel the cold breeze pushing in around him, could feel the brush of the branches on his shoulder.

Then, with a loud bang, it was all gone.

He was back in the study, blinking away the sensation that had washed over him and turning toward the doorway to take in Sam and the shotgun in his hands.

"Dean!" Sam called out to him, his eyes wide and panicked. The shotgun was lowering and the youngest was surging forward until he was in front of Dean, looking him up and down as Dean pushed to his feet and straightened up. "What the hell, man?"

"Did I miss something?" Dean tried, attempting to play off the situation with a cocksure grin, but he could practically feel the heat from the recently fired barrel of the shotgun. The goosebumps from the chilled air still lingered on his skin, along with the cold touch of fingertips on his shoulder.

"Jasper was right he-…" Sam started before taking a breath and shaking his head. "Where did you go just now?"

It was the motel room all over again, only instead being halfway toward the exit before being abruptly woken, this time Dean had been moments away from getting himself possessed. He had been so lost in that photograph, so lost in whatever had washed over him, that he hadn't even felt Jasper approaching. If Sam hadn't been there with his shotgun…

"I err… I was," Dean tried to say, before clearing his throat and holding up the photographs he had found. He passed them straight over to Sam, refusing to look down at them as he did so, almost afraid of losing himself in them once again. "I found these."

Sam took the pictures and flipped through them, but he didn't lose that concern creasing his brow. "Dean…"

The rest of his words didn't make it out, but the sentiment was loud and clear, all in that drawn out name. Confusion, uncertainty, worry. What did the photos have to do with Jasper? They were just photographs. Nothing special. Just landscapes. And how was Dean supposed to explain the way they drew him in? It reminded him of the first blade, and the Book of the Damned, though not as intense. It was like they were calling out to him, hypnotising him… which he knew was crazy, and more than a little dangerous.

"I don't know, Sam," Dean admitted, and he ran his hand up and over his face, searching the room with a sweeping gaze before focusing on the rock salt embedded in the bookcase behind him. "I can't explain it. One second I was looking at the photo and the next…"

Without another word, Sam stuffed the photos into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone, already dialling it and bringing it up to his ear before Dean even had chance to react.

"Who are you calling?"

"Rowena."

"Rowena, seriously? I'm fine, Sam."

Sam raised an eyebrow in response before letting go of a frustrated growl at the clear sound of Rowena's voicemail. He hung up and pointed the phone at Dean. "We don't know what that spell did to you, and I'm not taking any chances. First your sleepwalking? Then this? Since when did a ghost manage to get the drop on Dean Winchester?"

"Look, I'm not saying there isn't something… funky, going on…"

"Funky?" Sam questioned, tone incredulous as he stared Dean down.

"We just have to stick to the plan. We have the spell from Rowena, now we just have to find Hudson so we can spin the original spell back around onto him."

"In case you hadn't noticed, we've got nothing. No leads. We don't know where he is, what face he's using, or if he's even still in town."

"I may be able to help with that," Eddie interrupted, appearing in the doorway and clearing his throat as he looked between the pair of them and held up his police scanner. "I mean, I hate to interrupt your little party, but someone just called in with a sighting of someone suspicious hanging around outside our friend's diner. Old hobo type with a bad limp."

There was no denying it. Dean felt his chest tighten and heart quicken. "That's him."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

The ride to the diner was all but silent. If Sam was honest, he wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to say. He could voice his worries until the cows came home, but he knew Dean wouldn't listen. The eldest was stubborn that way. Stubborn and reckless. It made Sam feel overly cautious, forever watching his brother and the careful mask he had put in place.

His stomach twisted as he thought of how the hunt had been his idea. After everything that had happened, Sam just wanted to get Dean out of the bunker. He just wanted to get his mind off Michael. If he had known the hunt would become personal, if he had known it was going to put Dean in danger… then Dean would have gone racing in even faster. Because that was what Dean did, put himself in harm's way to save others. It was why he sold his soul to bring Sam back, it was why he took on the burden of the mark… it was why he said yes to Michael.

But this time, it was Dean that was in danger and Sam hated the vulnerability he caught in his brother's eyes, back in the motel room, back in the study, and even now, when he thought Sam wasn't looking.

Bringing the Impala to a halt, Dean turned off the engine and pulled his gun out from inside his jacket, giving it and the witch-killing bullets within a quick once over before dragging himself from the car. Sam was slower in climbing out, looking Dean up and down as he swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"Dean, maybe you should wait out here…" he began, hardly even looking toward the diner across the street or the truck that pulled up behind them, engine cutting out as Eddie pulled himself from the front.

"Because ghosts can't possess you out in broad daylight?" Dean argued in return, closing the driver's door. He didn't wait for a response, instead looking left and right at the non-existent traffic, before crossing the road.

Sam swore under his breath, grabbing the shotgun out from the backseat and setting off after Dean. His handgun sat neatly in the waistband of his jeans, but given the run in at the house, he wasn't leaving the shotgun and rock salt behind. "We don't know what's waiting for us in there."

"That's a part of the job, kid," Eddie interjected, quickly matching his stride. "You never do."

In answer, Dean merely held his hand out to motion to Eddie, no words needed because Sam knew the action said it loud and clear – ' _see, he gets it'_.

"I'm just saying," Sam continued, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Bad feeling or not," Dean answered, slowing his pace only once they had turned into the alleyway leading toward the back of the diner, "we don't have much time before the local cops figure out that anonymous tip about a body on the edge of town was just a distraction to keep them away from here."

"I don't think they're that smart," Eddie offered on a dry scoff, but other than that he didn't argue, and neither did Sam.

They had a small window of opportunity and they had to take it. The sooner Hudson was within their grasp, the sooner they could work the spell and be rid of Jasper.

Dean only stopped when they came to the backdoor of the diner, reaching behind to pull out his gun as Eddie did the same, Sam choosing to raise the shotgun ready. It was automatic that Dean took lead, motioning with a finger to his lips that it was time for silence. He stepped to one side of the slightly ajar door and Eddie took the other, leaving Sam to aim toward the unknown as Dean gently pushed the door further open until they could see all the way in.

Nothing. At least not yet.

Sam pushed forward, edging into the room and half paying attention to Eddie and Dean as they did the same, the rest of his attention on what was inside. Sights, sounds. Anything that looked out of place. But the kitchen was empty, leading Sam to push through the open doorway that led to the front. It took only a quick sweep to tell him there was no one there either.

He turned back to look at Dean, who stood waiting by the basement door, hand already hovering over the handle, ready for Sam's signal that the rest of the diner was all clear. Sam gave it and carefully, cautiously, Dean turned the handle and pushed the door open. The steps down were dark, but even from the top, Sam could see the flicker of light from the bottom. Candlelight. There was no doubt about it. He cast a questioning look Eddie's way, brow burrowed, and the narrowed gaze and thinned lips on Eddie's face said it all. That light hadn't been there before, at least not when the hunter had called the previous day.

Each step down was painful and Sam grimaced at each and every creak and squeak of the floorboards. But the lower they got, the more light they could see and the more they could hear. It was a whisper at first, sounding like nothing more than a persistent wind, a draft blowing through the empty basement. By the last step, the mumbling of words was audible, even if Sam couldn't quite make out what those words were.

They rounded the corner, guns at the ready, and almost immediately the mumbling stopped. A figure stood in the centre of the room, back to them, but it seemed that didn't matter. He knew they were there as much as they knew he was. Hudson. Except he wasn't young version of the man that Sam remembered from the forest. His hair was dirty grey, and straggly, resting against hunched shoulders that rested atop a crooked spine that couldn't decided whether it wanted to lean left or right, so found a way to do both at the same time.

"Hello, Dean," the man called out, lowering his hands to his sides as he turned to face them, and as he did so, Sam could see the blade he grasped in his right whilst his left palm was slashed and bloody.

"What did you do?" Sam questioned, worry edging in as he tried to see beyond the man and toward whatever spell he had been working.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Hudson answered. "It's over."

At that, Dean scoffed and raised his gun a little more to take aim, a sardonic smile settling at the corner of his lips. "You're damn right it's over."

"We need him alive, Dean." A brief reminder, though Sam knew his brother hadn't forgotten. He would have fired already if he had.

Still, Dean cocked the gun for good measure. "Doesn't mean we need him in one piece."

Hudson brought his hands up, as if in defeat, but he still held onto the knife, a sly and crooked smile creeping its way across those dry and crooked lips. "Oh? And why is that?" When no one answered, he tilted his head to the side and raised his eyebrows, lowering his head an inch, as if offering up pity to them. His gaze flickered to each of them in turn but rested finally on Dean, as if Sam and Eddie were merely pesky flies buzzing about the room. "You think you can stop it? All you've done is delay it. From the first time you ran away, that's all you've done, and now you can't run anymore. You can't change that, and nor can I."

"We ain't asking you to," Eddie growled out. "In fact, we ain't asking at all."

"You want your son back?" Dean continued, giving Sam the nod. "Then you can have him back. Just leave me out of it."

Sam tucked the shotgun under his arm and pulled out the piece of paper he had used to write Rowena's spell down on. He began to unfold it but immediately felt a spell from Hudson sending him back into the wall. Dean fired a shot, or possibly Eddie, Sam wasn't sure which, but the bang was loud and clear, as was the shattering of glass that followed. Shaking the fuzziness from his head, Sam lifted his head in time to see Hudson throwing the knife in Eddie's direction. It narrowly missed the older hunter, lodging in the wall where his head had been instead.

As Sam gathered himself and snatched up the paper once more, Dean was pulling a pair of cuffs from his pocket and striding toward the back of Hudson. But Hudson was quicker, turning his attention back to Dean and bringing a fist up in front of his face, squeezing it tightly. Dean dropped the cuffs in favour of grabbing at his neck, clearly struggling for breath for a moment too long, until finally Hudson swung his arm around, the motion sending Dean flying back the way he had come and behind Sam, into a table that collapsed on impact.

It gave Sam a brief opportunity to start on the spell, his tongue twisting over the words as he focused on what was written on that paper. He pushed forward, eager to continue the spell and making use of further distraction provided by Eddie. But even that was short lived, and as quickly as he tried to speak the unfamiliar words, pushing down the worry that he had yet to hear Dean get back up from the floor, it just wasn't quick enough. Hudson had the upper hand. The glass from the shattered window was sent toward Eddie, causing he older hunter to drop to the ground out of the way, which left Sam open once more.

He tried to continue the spell, but stumbled over the words when the centre of the paper caught fire. It spread out, blackening the page until Sam had no choice but to drop it, watching helplessly as it floated down to the ground as nothing but ash. He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze once more, jaw tightening and nostrils flaring as he met Hudson's hard gaze.

"Children shouldn't play with magic," Hudson snarled out, and he raised his right hand in front of him, fingers closing one by one, grip growing tighter and tighter, and all the while, Sam could feel the pressure around his throat.

He struggled for breath, dropping down to his knees, trying to fight off the light headedness and spots that danced across his vision. For a moment, it wavered. For a moment, he had nothing left. Then the gunshot rang out and in a moment of clarity, Sam saw the blood spreading out across Hudson's chest, the man falling to the ground within a matter of seconds.

It didn't take long before Dean was by his side, smoking gun still in hand. "Sam? Sammy? You okay?"

Sam cleared his throat and blinked away the blurriness before taking a look around at the chaos of the room, his gaze finally landing on the body of Hudson. "You shot him…"

"I had to. He was killing you."

"Dean…" Sam didn't need to say anything further, they both knew the implications.

"I know," Dean answered on a nod, looking out toward the body of Hudson. "We'll find another way, Sam. I swear."

But without Hudson, without knowing the full implications of the spell… Sam wasn't sure what other way there was.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – August 1993_

_The boys have been with Bobby for two weeks now and I'm no closer to finding the thing that took Dean. I have my theories, but the killings have stopped and all leads have dried up. Either they've moved on or they've gone dormant. Caleb put me in touch with a local hunter – lives a few towns over. I can't stay here for much longer, but the least I can do is get someone to watch over the place. Eddie Driscoll. I'm heading out in the morning to meet him._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	13. Chapter 13

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Chapter 13

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The first thing Sam did when he was on his feet again was check and double check Hudson's body for any sign of life; a pulse, breath, anything that indicated they could still use him. But Sam had known it was hopeless before he even tried. The man was dead. Dead as a nail in a lamp room door. "You killed him."

"That tends to be the purpose behind shooting someone," Dean answered, watching Sam from where he stood, arms hanging by his side, gun loose in his grasp.

"We needed him alive, for the spell."

"And here was me thinking we _both_ had to be alive too." Dean motioned between himself and Sam before offering up a shrug of his shoulders. "Or is that not how this works?"

Sam brushed a hand up and through his hair, looking down at Hudson once more before glancing over to Eddie as the hunter approached, rubbing at his shoulder as he did. Dean was right. Sam knew he was, but it didn't make it any easier that they were once more back at square one.

"No sacrifices, remember?" Dean spoke up in Sam's silence. "No stupid heroics. Goes both way, Sam. We'll find another way. But right now, we need to be getting the hell out of dodge before the cops turn up."

At that, Sam bobbed his head and chewed at his lip in thought. His gaze wandered over the basement and toward the table Hudson had been working at. On it sat the candles that had been blown out in the commotion - leaving only dim grey light to fill the basement from the smudged half windows that looked out of the back – and an open book that rested against a discoloured metal bowl. He edged toward it, looking inside the bowl at the mix of blood and bones and who only knew what else.

"Hey – no time like the present, Sammy. We gotta go," Dean continued, a light impatience settling across his words, urgency coating them.

And again, Dean was right, but that didn't mean Sam was going to drop the thoughts swirling around in his head so easily. He grabbed the book and turned to face Dean and Eddie in time to see former swooping down to grab the abandoned shotgun from the floor. Sam didn't miss the way his brother faltered, the slight misstep that was only corrected at the last second and probably wouldn't have been at all if the elder Winchester's hand hadn't shot out to use the wall for balance.

Sam was by his side in moments, hands on his brother's arm as he looked Dean over. He hadn't noticed it at first, it was too well hidden in Dean's hairline, but upon closer inspection, Sam could see the blood from the head wound, spreading out and staining his skin. "Dean, you're hurt."

Dean grumbled and swept Sam's hand away, sending a look toward the broken table he had been thrown into. "I'm fine. Just getting my bearings is all."

"Dean…" Sam tried, but he was interrupted by Eddie clearing his throat impatiently, the older hunter raising his eyebrows at Sam as he did so.

"How about we get out of here first and you can play nurse to your heart's content knowing we're not going to get interrupted?" he questioned, hitching a thumb toward the stairway.

"I swear, Sam, I'm _fine_ ," Dean added, drawing the word out. "If anything, I am starving. So hey, here's an idea – why don't we go find some place to eat and you can nerd out on your new book while I'll fill myself up with meat and mead?"

And Sam could hardly argue with that. Dean worked best on a full stomach, and Sam worked best when Dean wasn't complaining about being hungry. It would give them time to gather their thoughts and think of their next move, time to process what had happened in that basement and maybe figure out why this case seemed to be doomed from the start.

It didn't take long before they found themselves in a bar that was far enough away from the diner to give them space from possible police presence, but was also a much needed change of scenery from the same four walls of the motel room. For Dean, it was like heaven on earth, but for Sam, it would simply do. He ordered his water and salad with a quick and polite glance toward the waitress before pulling the book out and setting it on the table. He only paid half attention toward Dean and Eddie as the pair placed their orders.

"Medium-rare," Dean voiced up, in answer to the question of how he would like his steak done, before continuing to add on, "And your finest mead."

"We have beer?" the waitress answered, unsure and questioning.

"Then bring me your finest beer." Dean grinned at her, offering up a wink as he did so.

She merely raised an eyebrow and scribbled down on her notebook. "Aha… _ooookay_."

It wasn't until she had walked away, pulling the sheet from the notebook as she did so, that Sam looked at Dean with narrowed eyes. He had cleaned Dean's wounds in the car before they entered the place, and he couldn't help but notice the somewhat loopy behaviour, as if he was on a high, showing no signs of coming down.

"You feeling okay there, Dean?" he questioned, pulling Dean's attention away from the waitress and back toward the table.

"I'm fine. In fact, I'm better than fine. I'm… great."

"I'm beginning to wonder just how hard you hit your head back there, kid," Eddie growled out. "You feeling dizzy at all? Seeing any bright lights?"

Dean held his hands out open in front of him on the table. "I don't know what to tell you guys – I feel fine. Hungry, but other than that – nothing. Hey, who knows, maybe it's the spell. Maybe killing Hudson killed the spell."

A dark scoff from Eddie, and a somewhat dark grin. "Hunters are never that lucky, and the way I hear it – Winchesters even less so."

"Eddie's got a point," Sam agreed, and he placed his hand on the book in front of him, but looked to Dean. "We need to figure out what spell Hudson was working in that basement. We don't know what effect it could have had on you."

"Why do you automatically assume it was something to do with me?" Dean grumbled, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. He looked like a petulant child, sulking because he had been told no – no ice cream until you eat all your food.

Sam shook his head and sighed, choosing instead to open the book and start flipping through the pages to find the one it had been open on when they had found it. Still, didn't stop him from flicking his gaze up toward Dean every so often, watching his brother. From the waitress bringing their drinks over, to her bringing out their food and after. Sam watched him, and he was sure he caught Eddie watching him too. He saw the suspicion in Eddie eyes, saw the uncertainty as the old hunter 'accidentally' spilled the salt, sending it across the table to cover Dean's hand. But aside from moving his hand out of the way and dusting it off, there was no reaction.

Nothing was said about it, at least not while Dean was there. No, Eddie kept whatever was on his mind to himself until Dean excused himself to use the bathroom, disappearing into it after finishing off his steak and fries.

"Tell me, Sam," Eddie said, without raising his gaze from the cup of coffee he was still nursing. "Did you have eyes on your brother the whole time we were in the basement?"

"What are you saying, Eddie?" Sam questioned, closing the book to turn his attention fully toward the man.

"Oh, I think you know."

"No." Sam shook his head. "It's not possible."

"Wouldn't be the first time they used themselves as a distraction." At that, Eddie raised his eyes to meet Sam's.

"That's not…" Sam paused and took a breath, licking at his lips and glancing toward the bathroom door as he stalled. It wasn't like Eddie was saying anything Sam hadn't already been thinking. "You don't know my brother. He wouldn't… He's…"

"What? Stronger than that?" Eddie finished for him, voice dripping in so much sarcasm that Sam had to look away.

Dean was strong, but that spell had done a number on him. Then there was the sleep walking and the incident at the house. Dean wasn't his usual self. He wasn't on top form. In fact, and Sam hated to say it, but Dean was vulnerable. He was open… Sam closed his eyes, cursing himself, and opened the book once more, searching the pages. There it was. How had he missed it before? A spell for wearing down defences, exposing a person's weakness, making them susceptible and open. All you needed was something belonging to that person, like a lock of hair that Hudson would have had plenty of time to get a hold of back in the forest.

He was about to open his mouth, to say something to Eddie, but he closed it before anything could make its way out, gaze rising to take in Dean's wide grin as he returned to the table, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair and pulling it on.

"You ready to hit the road?" he questioned, looking between Sam and Eddie.

Sam's smile was tight, lump forming in his throat as he bobbed his head. "Sure."

He closed up the book and pulled himself up, glancing quickly toward Eddie as the hunter pushed his cup away from him and climbed to his feet. They paid and left the bar in an awkward silence that Dean seemed oblivious to. In fact, he was so upbeat, he didn't even question Sam heading to trunk when they arrived at the car, too busy fidgeting with the keys in his hands as he looked out toward the open road.

"So I was thinking, we stick around another day, see if Jasper turns up again and he doesn't, we call it a win," Dean said, lazy smile on his face. "I'm telling you, I've got a good feeling about this. I really think killing Hudson stopped the spell. I mean, I feel _great_."

"Yeah," Eddie growled out, "because killing the last witch worked."

"I'm just saying…"

Sam cleared his throat, looking out from behind the open trunk. "We should salt and burn Hudson, just to be sure." He glanced to Eddie then back to Dean, scrubbing at his neck as he did so. "I was reading in the spell book he was using that there could be a way to use his body to banish Jasper's spirit completely, just to be sure. Here, come take a look."

Dean shrugged but moved around the Impala until he was standing beside Sam, expectant look settling on his face. He went in to grab the book Sam held out to him, completely at ease, so much so that he couldn't hide the flicker of pain across his face when Sam quickly snapped the handcuffs in place.

The book fell to the floor with a thump, and the pain disappeared to be replaced by confusion and betrayal. Dean tilted his head to the side, brow pulled up and eyes taking on a bewildered sheen. "'The hell, Sam?"

Sam straightened his shoulders and back, taking half a step back, close enough to grab a hold of the iron cuffs if need be, but also enough distance to regard his brother fully… or what was once his brother. "You're not Dean."

That cocky half-smile, the self assured shrug of his arms. "Dude, it's me. You know it's me." He cast a glance toward Eddie, and there his features changed into a somewhat snarl as he looked the man up and down, his words still directed at Sam. "You've let him get inside your head, haven't you? Sam – it's me. It's Dean."

"Then prove it," Eddie said from behind, and Sam didn't need to look to know he was cocking his gun. He could hear it, the distinct click as the hunter readied his weapon.

"How?" Dean, or Not-Dean, questioned in a very Dean way, annoyed and impatient. "Holy water? Salt?" Frustration showed on his face as he swung to Sam once more. "Or hey, maybe you want me to tell you about the time I walked in on you and…" He clicked his fingers together in thought before his eyes lit up and he pointed to Sam. "Missy Lewinson back in Batesville, Arkansas. You were, what? Fifteen? You made me promise not to tell Dad."

"Dean, I…" Sam started, but he couldn't finish what he was about to say. The way Dean squirmed in the cuffs, the tightness of his jaw as if they pained him. "We need to be sure."

"Take the cuffs off, Sam," Dean asked, holding his hands out, smile still sitting on his lips, but becoming tighter and tighter by the second. "Come on, man. It's me." Then came the anger as he thrust his hands forward, nose wrinkling up and teeth all but bared as his voice rose whilst still keeping that dangerous deep growl. "Take them off!"

Sam swallowed hard and shook his head, fighting the instinct to take a step back. "No."

And Dean hung his head as he huffed out. When he lifted it once more, a scowl had taken hold of his features, upper lip turned up as he looked Sam up and down. He glanced between the pair of them, all pretence gone. "I really had you going there, didn't I, Sammy Boy? What gave me away?"

"I know my brother, and you're not him."

"No," came the response from Dean's lips, "I'm really not."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

At first, Dean felt as if he was floating, laid on his back and staring up at the clear night sky above. Stars twinkled and the moon shone, the water beneath lapping up against his sides. It was all so peaceful, so perfectly still… until he realised that he wasn't floating. He was sinking. It was slow at first, then in one moment he was breathing his last breath above the surface and in the next, he plunging down and down and down.

The darkness dragged him further and further, beneath the surface, gripping him tight and wrapping him in a suffocating blanket of cold wet nothingness. He struggled of course, thrashing out against the water, but his movements were heavy, weighed down by the pressure pushing in on him. He swore he could feel fingers pulling at him, yanking him this way and that, exhausting him a little more at each attempt to escape.

But the panic didn't truly set in until he swore saw the flash of bright blue eyes in the distance above. There one moment, and gone the next. It was barely even a blink, but that was all it took. His heart skittered in his chest, lungs burning and aching, his stomach dropping as he if he had just swallowed a lead weight.

Michael.

It took him right back several months, to that church, the empty building they finally defeated Lucifer in. And it took him right to the moments after, when Michael had broken their deal. When Michael had dragged him down inside himself, locking him away beneath waves and waves of nothingness. When Michael had taken control.

The voice of fear inside his mind questioned if he had ever truly been free. If the last few months had been a dream and nothing more. If he had ever truly escaped the waters. But as he shut his eyes tight against the darkness, he could see another set of eyes, sunken and dead. He focused on those eyes, on that memory. It steadied his heart, calmed his fears.

Pain radiated out from the wound on his head, and he remembered. He remembered it all. He remembered the basement, and he remembered Hudson. He remembered being thrown, and he remembered struggling to focus his vision – Jasper looming ever closer, Sam and Eddie too distracted by Hudson to notice.

The pressure fell away, cool air hitting his face, and when he opened his eyes, he was on the surface once more, taking in a lungful of air. He didn't wait for the force to drag him back down, choosing instead to drive his body toward the bank of the lake; arms tired and aching with each stroke, fingertips and nails already scratching at his legs and feet once more, attempting to drag him back. He kicked out and pushed forward, forcing himself to move until he was finally out of the water and resting in the dirt and mud on the bank.

"Okay," he breathed out, looking around him at the unfamiliar landscape that he was beginning to realise was inside his own mind, "now what?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Jasper had plenty to say from the backseat of the Impala on the drive back to the motel, and when he wasn't talking, he was singing. The songs varied from faintly familiar to completely obscure, some slower than others but all sang with such vigour that Sam could practically imagine the old style tavern the songs must have once been sung in, complete with overflowing beer tankards and drunken men sloshing them about. But the strangest thing about it was the slight lilt beneath his brother's voice, making him sound less like Dean, and more like a stranger doing a disturbing impression of the oldest Winchester.

"A poor old man came riding by, and we say so, and we know so. O, a poor old man came riding by. O, poor old man," Jasper sang on, a glint in his eyes that said he was enjoying every minute of tormenting Sam, "Says I, 'Old man, your horse will die, and we say so, and we know so. And if he dies, we'll tan his hide. O, poor old man."

Gritting his teeth and breathing in through his nose, Sam did his best to ignore him, instead focusing on other things, such as the road ahead. When he let go of his breath, he reached into his pocket for his phone, for possibly the third time since getting in the car, but the result was always the same. Straight to voicemail and no returned calls. Rowena had disappeared from the earth right when they needed her most. She was the only one Sam could think of that would have any answers – _something_ that would help them.

For a brief moment, Jasper paused, but Sam wasn't fooled into thinking his theatre for one had ended. No, the song simply changed, but at least they had finally reached their destination.

Before he even brought the car to a full stop, his eyes were drawn to the door to their room, open wide. He set the car in park and pulled himself from the Impala, leaving Jasper locked up in the back seat for now, as he drew his gun and edged forward toward the open doorway. As if things couldn't possibly get any worse for them.

Eddie wasn't far behind, the elder hunter having followed him closely on the road. Both raised their guns as they drew closer to the threshold, but only Sam lowered his once he could see through it and into the room, taking in the small and slender frame of the woman facing away from them, her hair a raging fire against her back.

When Eddie went to cock his gun, Sam placed a hand on the man's arm and shook his head before breathing out, his brow burrowing in confusion at the sight.

"Rowena?"

"Hello, boys," she answered cheerfully, drawing the words out with her usual dramatic flair as she turned around to face them with a wide grin. But that grin of hers quickly turned down and into a frown as she looked between the pair, uncertainty written clearly in her eyes. "Where's Dean?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – August 1993_

_I finally got some answers on that yucca plant. Turns out it's most often used in transmutation or purification spells. So I took another look at the victims and there's a pattern I didn't see before. They were in perfect health, and not just your average healthy. We're talking from perfect vision to lungs and hearts in perfect working condition. Doc Benton wasn't so fussy about the perfect, he just wanted working, but this thing… whatever it is, it doesn't just want the best, it wants the best of the best._

_So here's what I know so far…:_

_1 – It's building something with the body parts. A host, maybe?_

_2 – We're looking at some kind of witch. My bets are on a bodach._

_3 – It wants Dean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note: The lyrics for the song Jasper was singing comes from a sea shanty in the game Assassin's Creed: Black Flag. One of my favourite games.


	14. Chapter 14

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 14

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Rowena watched Sam with expectant eyes, the cheer lining her features fading more and more as she waited for his answer. It never came. Instead, it was Eddie who spoke up, his voice gruff and almost accusing. It was no surprise that as soon as he opened his mouth, Rowena's face no longer resembled a warm summer's day with blue skies and bright sunshine, but rather an oncoming thunderstorm with gloomy clouds and distant lightning strikes growing ever closer.

"Rowena?" Eddie questioned, putting his gun away and looking Rowena up and down with narrowed eyes, taking her in. " _This_ is your witch?"

Immediately, Rowena huffed out, raising her chin up and tilting her head enough to show she didn't appreciate whatever insinuation Eddie was making. She raised her eyebrows, all but looking down her nose at him. "You got a problem with that, _hunter_?"

"No," Eddie continued, "I just expected someone…"

"Younger?" Rowena challenged with a glare, voice deepening as she all but dared him to agree with her words.

"Ugly."

That seemed to catch Rowena off guard, if only for a moment. She straightened her back and shoulders, a small smile flitting across her lips for the briefest of instants before being brought under control by the witch and schooled in an attempt at coming across as more mysterious and aloof. "What can I say? I've lived a good life."

Sam let go of a light cough to remind the pair he was still there, and that there was very much a reason for why he was there – in his and Dean's motel room. Rowena however… "Rowena, what are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighbourhood, thought I'd pop by, see how you boys were getting on."

"I tried calling you…"

"Ah yes," Rowena answered, her face twisting up a little as she dug into her pocket and pulled out her phone, regarding it with disapproval. "The damn thing died on me, didn't it?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, looking Rowena over before glancing back out of the doorway, toward the Impala and what he could make of Jasper. "How did you even find us? I thought you said a location spell wouldn't work with all the magic around here."

"You think I'm limited to my magic? My dear boy, I have my womanly charms too, you know?"

Sam merely raised an eyebrow at Rowena. To say he wasn't entirely convinced would be an understatement. Sceptical. Doubtful. Or even plain old suspicious and disbelieving – those were closer to the truth.

She rolled her eyes and huffed out, voice loosing it's higher and more chipper tone. "Okay, you got me. I bribed the motel clerk." But then she smiled again, bright and cheerful once more, continuing on before either Sam or Eddie could say anything further on the subject. "Now, back to my original question – where is Dean?"

"He's err… He's in the car," Sam answered, swallowing at the lump in his throat before chewing at his bottom lip. "The problem is, he's not alone."

A brief pause; a frown forming on Rowena's lips. "Come again."

"Jasper he…"

"Jasper?"

"The spirit," Eddie answered, and he was dragging a seat into the centre of the room away from everything else, his gaze distracted and searching. Sam knew without asking that he was looking for something to bind Dean with and motioned toward the duffel bag on his bed.

"The spirit you were meant to use the spell I gave you on?" Rowena continued, looking between the two before focusing on Sam. "The one that should be currently possessing your bodach?"

Sam took a breath and cleared his throat. "About that…"

"About tha- Samuel, are you trying to tell me that you took a perfectly good spell and… screwed it up?" She marched forward toward the doorway and looked out at the Impala, taking in what she could see of Dean.

"Well, we found Hudson – the err, bodach," Sam explained, "but he was waiting for us, and while we were fighting, Jasper got the jump on Dean and…" He held his hands up, unable to say the words out loud.

"Okay, okay," Rowena breathed out, nodding her head as she did so, and using her hands to pat the air, as if calming it somehow. "Not to fear. We can still make it work. We just need to find this Hudson again and we can still perform the spell."

Eddie let go of a dark scoff, looking up from the chair and the ropes he dumped on it, the duffel bag he retrieved them from open and spilling out on Sam's bed. "I figure he'll be at the morgue by now, if that helps."

Rowena swung to glare at Sam with wide eyes, mouth opening to question, but before anything could make its way out, Sam was already answering.

"Dean shot him – or rather, Jasper did. He must have known with Hudson alive, we could still perform the spell."

Eyes closing, Rowena took a deep breath, and when she opened them again, she looked out toward the Impala once more. "Well, you best bring our boy in then, and we'll see just how deep he has his claws in – see if we can figure this whole mess out."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean dragged himself up from the dirt and the muck, his body heavier than he remembered, his bones wearier. Even without the cold water pushing in on him, he felt weighed down, the air thick and toxic around him. He turned on the spot, taking in the trees around him that stretched up and up and up, bare branches reaching out for the greying sky above. The night was shifting into dawn, just as Dean's surroundings had themselves shifted.

The lake was gone, replaced by dirt and dust and dead leaves. Moonlight no longer played upon the air, a muted sunlight setting in instead. He knew this place. It set something alight inside of him, something primal that responded with both fear and excitement. Even though he knew it wasn't real, it still felt the same. It felt and looked, and hell, it even smelled the exact same way he remembered, even after years had passed.

Purgatory.

"Well, that's just messed up…" he breathed out.

It wasn't the first time his mind had taken him to purgatory and he doubted it would be the last, but unlike his nightmares, he knew there was something else in charge of this vision. Unseen eyes watched from beyond the trees, and though he couldn't pinpoint their location, he knew they were there. That was the thing about purgatory, they were always there. Watching and waiting for you to stumble. He wondered if they belonged to the creatures and monsters that lurked in purgatory and, in turn, his mind, or if they belonged to Jasper.

"Okay, you wanna play?" he said, after another moment, nodding his head and coming to a decision, hands flexing at his sides before forming loose fists. "Then let's play."

If Jasper was trying to keep him locked up and hidden away, he had picked the wrong place to do it in. But before Dean could get too comfortable, snarls echoed through the air, footsteps racing toward him as the first monster emerged from the brush, all teeth and claws and desperate hunger.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Jasper didn't protest or fight when Sam pulled him from the Impala; and when he was bound to the chair, his only complaint was that the handcuffs were chafing the skin of his 'fine packaging', as he put it. Sam tied the knot in the ropes just that little bit tighter and double checked the cuffs to be sure, taking extra care to remove any extra hidden blades of Dean's he may have missed when he had first bundled Jasper into the Impala. If Jasper could see inside Dean's head, know the things the eldest knew, then Sam had to take all precautions.

"Well, this is fun," Jasper drawled, looking about the room and at each of them in turn. "Not exactly what I had planned for my return party, but I'll take it." His tongue ran over his bottom lip, gaze lingering on Rowena. "I'm particularly fond of the witch. She reeks of days gone by – kind of reminds me of home."

"How long's he been like this?" Rowena asked, eyes focused on Jasper but words aimed at Sam.

"Few hours," Sam answered, shuffling from one foot to another uncomfortably. Seeing his brother like this, after everything that had happened, Sam hated it. If it made his skin crawl, he could only imagine how Dean must have felt – buried in there somewhere, going through God only knew what.

Rowena said nothing further, instead taking a breath and rounding Jasper until she was stood behind him. She held her hands just above his shoulders and closed her eyes, a spell slipping past her lips, worming its way through the air. When the words died away, she remained in place, her face twisting up as if in pain, head tilting this way and that, until finally she let go of a sharp breath and moved back, as if struck by something sharp or cold.

"It's not like any spirit possession I've come across before," Sam said with a shake of his head. "Salt does nothing, and the iron 'cuffs? The most they do is hurt him, and I can't help but think that means they're hurting Dean too? I mean, ghosts… shoot them full of rock salt, hit them with the iron and they disappear. They get forced out."

"There's a reason that doesn't work on him," Rowena started, the words solemn. Sad. Her features matched her tone, brow drawn down and lips pressed together. She moved from behind Jasper and came to stand in front of Sam instead, looking up at him with sorrow and pain written in her eyes. "This isn't your usual possession, Samuel. The magic… Dean and your spirit, it has their souls all… twisted up and bundled together. Your ghosty isn't just possessing Dean's body. He's feeding off his soul."

"Then we get him out," Sam answered, hand going up to his head as he tried to process what Rowena was telling him. "We find a way to get him out."

"How?" Rowena questioned. "What do you propose, Samuel? He's got himself so tightly bound with Dean that whatever we do to one will happen to the other. We try to force him out without some kind of fail-safe in place, we could end up hurting Dean."

"You could always let me go," Jasper crooned. "After all, it's not like you can keep me here forever."

"Keep talking, Casper," Eddie growled out, a snarl slipping onto his face as he pulled something from his jacket. "We'll see how long you keep smiling when you're choking on this."

It took Sam a moment to realise what the object in Eddie's hand was. A salt shaker he must have swiped from the bar. Immediately, Sam rushed forward, putting himself between Eddie and Dean, and grabbing the older hunter tight by the upper arm, fingers digging in hard through the man's jacket. "Hey, hey! No. You heard Rowena… we don't know what that'll do to them."

"It ain't personal, kid, but a job's a job and us hunters, we gotta see a job through or it comes back to bite us in the ass, and hell if this whole situation ain't proof of that."

"He's my brother."

"Not anymore, he ain't."

Sam shook his head, lowering his hand from Eddie's arm and taking a step back, straightening up and standing his ground. "Dean is still in there."

Eddie snorted. "For how long? If Jasper really is feeding off your brother's soul, then that means he's only going to get stronger. The stronger he gets, the harder he'll be to kill. And Dean? What do you think will happen to him? If Jasper consumes his soul, Dean won't just be dead. He won't even exist anymore. He'll just be nothing. An empty shell. Heaven, Hell… Forget about it, because how can you reap what isn't there?"

"No." Sam shook his head and swallowed hard. "You don't know my brother. He'll fight, with everything he has, because that's what Dean does. He fights and he never gives up."

"Touching, really." Jasper's drawl echoed around the room with a quiet foreboding, leaving behind the sense that something wasn't quite right. Perhaps it was the light thump of rope and metal on the floor, or the way Sam could feel Jasper shifting behind him before he even turned around to look. When he did, it was to see Jasper lounging in the chair, free, with a wide toothy grin. "Don't look so surprised, Sammy. You were so busy making sure I couldn't use any of Dean's tricks that you overlooked the one's I already had up my sleeve. Well, one singular really…"

"Magic," Rowena answered before anyone else could, and if anyone would know magic when they saw it, it would be her.

"Moveantur!" Jasper called, raising both hands and bringing them back a little towards himself before pushing forward.

The force was immediate, throwing them all backwards, away from him. The impact of the bed on his back jarred Sam, but he recovered quickly despite it, dragging himself up from the ground at the same time Jasper pushed up from the chair. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Rowena and Eddie pulling themselves to their feet, but Sam kept his attention focused on Jasper.

Cocky didn't even cover it. Jasper rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck side to side, loosening up. He was in no rush. For him, he had all the time in the world, and Sam could see why he oozed confidence and self-assurance. Eddie was right. The longer Jasper was inside of Dean, the stronger he was growing. The iron cuffs, that had kept him in check long enough for them to get him to the motel room, were discarded on the ground, burnt and broken.

"We could have had something, Sammy," Jasper said, toying with Sam and taking a step forward. "That's what he calls you, right? _Sammy_. I mean, we could have been brothers. I've never had a brother before."

From beside Sam, Rowena edged away, her hands working, subtle and barely noticeable, whispered words slipping past her lips. She was taking advantage of Jasper's attention being on Sam, but she was a second too slow. Jasper swung his glare to her, one single venomous word pushed out in her direction as he held a single finger up to his lips.

"Silentium," he shot out, and Rowena's words died instantly.

Instead, her voice was muffled, eyes widening and hands going up to her mouth. She tried to force it open, but nothing came of it and she seethed in silence, her nostrils flaring.

"Don't you know it's rude to talk when somebody else is?" Jasper taunted. "Now, where was I?"

"You were busy giving us the typical bad guy monologue," Eddie answered, face forming that snarl of his.

"You're a funny guy," Jasper said, pointing toward the hunter. "I'd keep you alive if I thought you might be useful, but the thing is, you're not." He clicked his tongue and shrugged. "I'd say I'm sorry, 'cept I'm really not."

Jasper didn't even look as he formed a fist with his right hand, sending Eddie crashing down to the ground, clutching at his neck. No, Jasper was focused on Sam once more, a grin twisting across his face, across Dean's face. Wicked and crooked.

"Let them go," Sam demanded, jaw set and shoulders pushed back and straight. "Let them all go."

"No. You have no idea how long I have waited for this." Jasper's demeanour shifted, light and playful, taunting, turning darker, meaner, angry. He took a step forward, features turning up into a snarl, and pointed towards Sam as he spoke before motioning to the empty air around him. "Do you think it was fun? Do you think _dying_ was fun? It was agony. Imagine swallowing lungs full of acid, day after day after day. Just endless pain. A body so broken even magic couldn't fix it. So this…" He shook his head and looked down at his body with a twisted smile. "Why would I give _this_ up?"

Sam nodded and let go of a lengthy breath through his nose, every inch of him tensed up, knowing what he had to do. He reached behind his back and brought his gun out, swallowing hard as he raised it to point at Jasper's chest. _Dean's_ chest. "You know what's in here? Witch killing bullets. See, I figure salt and iron might not work on you anymore, but these… these will. So, I'm telling you one last time - let them go."

Jasper shook his head, tilting it as he looked Sam up and down. "You're not gonna shoot me. Why do you think I haven't killed you yet? Because I know you, like he knows you." He tapped the side of his head and leaned forward a little. "You and Dean, you'd die for each other. _Kill_ for each other. You wouldn't shoot him."

Beside him, Sam could see Eddie was losing his battle. He was fading, and fast, which meant Sam had no time to waste. He had one play left and this was it. All-in for the gamble, or fold and risk losing everything. He let go of a light snort and cast a glance down in thought before steadying him having made his decision. "Wouldn't be the first time."

He breathed in deep, and then let it go. Taking aim, and taking the shot.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_October 2005_

_For Eddie,_

_I know we've had our differences over the years, and I know things didn't exactly end well between us, but I need your help. I'm getting close to finding the thing that killed Mary, and the thing is, the closer I get, the more I realise I might not make it out alive. My boys are all I have. I have failed them in so many ways, and I can't even begin to imagine going up against this thing without them by my side, but you can bet I'll try damn hard to keep them as far away from it all for as long as I can._

_Dean thinks I'm still in Jericho, working a case, but I know it won't be long until he figures out I've already skipped town. He'll finish the job I've had to leave behind and he'll find my journal. It's just a matter of time. He's a good hunter and a good man. Better than his old man, that's for sure. Which is why I've taken out the pages I'm sending to you._

_That town I asked you watch over when we first met? I know you've still been keeping an eye and I know I never did fill you in on the details entirely, but when you read my journal entries, you'll understand why, and you'll understand why I have to do what I've done. Why I can't have Dean going back there…_

_If this thing that killed Mary does finish me off before I can finally lay that case to rest, I need to know my boy is safe. That's all I ask of you. When the time comes, and it will, finish it – before it gets to Dean._

_-John Winchester_

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.


	15. Chapter 15

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 15

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Blood coated the machete Dean had managed to wrangle from one monster that now lay dead several feet from him. The red drip, drip, dripped to the ground; specks of it littering his face like freckles. He finished his next swing and the head of his latest attacker, a vamp with a hungry growl and empty eyes, fell to the ground, shortly followed by its now lifeless body.

Dean barely had time to recover before more claws were reaching out for him, nails digging into his arm as a second vampire tried for lunch. He shirked away from the grip and was about to bring the blade down into the vampire's neck when a burst of pain radiated out from his thigh. The intensity of it sent him crashing to the ground, knees colliding with dirt and rock. Immediately, the vamp took advantage of the situation.

It launched itself at him, pinning him on his back to the ground, straddling him, hands pushing his shoulders down. Even as he tried to fight back, the vampire leaned forward, snapping its teeth toward his neck. He could feel the warmth of its breath, feel the sharpened fangs grazing his skin, desperate and starving. Dean turned his head away, bucking and thrashing until he managed to get one hand between his chest and the vamps. But one hand was enough, even more so when it was the one that held the machete.

The vamp pulled back a moment before attempting to dive in once more and finding itself skewered on the blade instead. It screeched at Dean and sat up long enough for Dean to pull the blade free and swing it one more time, sending the vamp's head rolling. The headless body landed on top of him and he gagged at the blood spilling out onto his chest before throwing the body off of him and dragging himself to his feet.

A quick glance around told him he was alone for a moment, but he knew it wouldn't be for long. Still, it was long enough for him to catch his breath and assess the sudden wound on his leg.

Face twisting up in a pained grimace, Dean touched the bloody spot on his thigh gingerly and hissed. Bullet wound, he was sure. But there had been no gunshot. At least not inside of there. That left only one explanation.

"Damn it," he cursed, looking down at his own blood staining his hand. He shook his head, frustration at being trapped rippling through him. "Pop quiz," he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched, aggravation colouring his words, "crazed ghost holding your older brother hostage, using him for cover… what do you do, Sammy?"

Shoot the hostage.

"Well, I hope it had some effect out there," he murmured, looking around him once more, "because I'm still stuck in here."

Even as the words left his mouth, he caught sight of the figure watching him from the tree line beyond. Jasper. There was no denying the guy was strong, but he was nothing compared to Michael. So all this fighting, all these monsters… Dean knew, he could feel it. Jasper couldn't keep him buried, so he was keeping distracted, wearing him down, piece by piece. Well, enough was enough.

"Alright then," Dean growled into the air, a dry and humourless smile settling at the corner of his mouth. He adjusted his grip on the handle of the machete, already stalking forward. "Time to end this nightmare."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Sam let go of his breath and took aim, squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out loud and clear and Jasper went down. His right leg buckled beneath him and he landed hard on his knee, an agonised cry ripping from his throat as he did so. The effect of the bullet was immediate. Eddie let go of a gasp before sucking in a lungful of air to the left of Sam, whilst Rowena coughed and spluttered to the right, in control of her mouth and voice once more.

Already, blood began to blossom out of the fresh wound in Jasper's thigh and a low growl rumbled out from inside his chest and out through bared teeth, like a wild and vicious animal that had just had its meal ripped away. The bullet had hurt and weakened him, Sam could tell that much, but it had also pissed the guy off. He snarled and glared at Sam, using whatever power he had left to send the gun flying from Sam's grip. It landed with a thump close to the door, both Jasper's and Sam's eyes following it.

Sam spared Jasper only the briefest of glances before diving after the gun. He scrambled forward, his fingertips brushing against the cool metal, but Jasper was on him almost immediately. He pressed down hard on Sam's outstretched hand and Sam couldn't help but pull back. He brought his hand up to his chest and looked up at Jasper as he loomed over Sam, favouring his injured leg.

"I'm going to kill you, Sam," Jasper taunted, pausing only long enough to give Sam a swift quick to the gut, sending him sprawling onto his back, winded. "I'm going to rip you apart, melt your skin from bones, and boil your eyes in your head. And I'm going to make Dean watch, again, and again, and again, until he's got nothing left to fight with, until his spirit is so bent and broken that he just gives up and everything that made Dean, Dean, is gone."

"Screw you," Sam spat out, trying to get his arm under him to push up from the ground.

But Jasper was unrelenting. He gripped Sam tight by the front of his shirt with one hand, bringing him up just enough to send a fist hard into Sam's face. Sam was sure he heard Eddie move through the ringing in his ears, quickly followed by a spell laced with venom from Jasper and the clattering of wood – sending Eddie flying into the table. Sam used the brief distraction to focused his eyes and his strength, reaching out for Jasper's leg and pressing down into the bullet wound. Jasper cried out in pain but responded by tearing Sam's hand away and sending his fist into Sam's jaw once more.

"How does it feel, _Sammy_?" Jasper questioned, pulling Sam up from the ground to meet the youngest Winchester's eyes. "Knowing that after everything, after all the bad guys you've stopped, all the demons you've survived – it'll be Dean that kills you. His hands, his voice, his pretty face." His smile was twisted and crooked. "Oh, but he'll fight it," he continued to mock. "Unless of course you remember that it'll be one, less, burden for him to carry."

He raised his fist once more, and Sam was already struggling to focus with the pounding in his head and the way his vision wavered. The blow never came though. Instead, Rowena called out, strong and forceful.

"Abite!" she shouted, and Jasper was thrown away from Sam like a ragdoll. He landed hard against the wall, but before he could recover, Rowena was stalking forward and bringing her hands down hard as another spell spilled from her lips. "Somnia!"

Jasper's eyes fluttered closed and his head fell back toward the wall, unconscious. Rowena let go of a long breath and came to stand in front of Sam, looking more than a little shaken, but still determined as she stood proud, chin tilted upward.

"Well," she said after another moment, "that should keep him quiet for a little while."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After the third or fourth step toward Jasper, the trees melted away, as did the sky and dirt beneath Dean's feet. Purgatory faded, the air closing in on him, forestry becoming a long corridor filled with familiar walls and doors. Dean no longer stood in a place where he was predator or prey. No, this wasn't a battlefield. This was his safe place. This was home. The bunker.

Sure, it wasn't without its faults and it wasn't as perfectly safe as advertised, but it was the closest it got for him. Even so, the air was tense and heavy still, unsettled. Restless. Because as much as it looked like the bunker, felt like the bunker, sounded like the bunker – it wasn't. It was an imitation, and apprehension tugged at Dean's heart as he wondered what Jasper planned with this new 'vision' of sorts. What nightmare did he have in store to wear Dean down?

Twisting on the spot, Dean looked both ways up and down the corridor. Back and forth, before finally deciding on which way to go. His fingertips reached out to the walls, running along them, tracing the small imperfections and indentations here and there. It felt so real, so much like the actual bunker. That said, it was quieter than the bunker was these days.

There were no distant footsteps or hushed conversations here and there, no hunters milling about, gathering weapons or intel. If anything, it was like the time before – when the bunker had been theirs and theirs alone.

He pushed onward, forcing himself to focus. He had to find Jasper. He wasn't entirely sure what he would do once that happened, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. The walls felt real enough to him, the wound in his leg certainly did too, and the blade in his hand... So maybe it would feel damn real to Jasper too when Dean buried it in his heart?

His gaze moved over the walls and doors up ahead, his footsteps coming to a pause at the sight of an unfamiliar door. It sat at the very end of the corridor, slightly ajar and different from the others. Out of place. Eye narrowed and brow burrowed, he edge forward, cautious with every step as he drew nearer. A soft light seemed to glow behind it, bright in a way that set him on edge.

If he didn't know any better, he swore he could hear whisperings from behind that door, words that didn't make sense, jumbled together. He reached out, a different voice telling him that such a door shouldn't be kept open. A door such as this should be shut tight and locked up with iron chains. He fingers were barely a touch away from gripping the handle when a cry of pain echoed out through the corridors behind.

That was all it took to tear his attention away from the door and back down the way he had come. He knew that sound, and it had him racing along the corridors toward the source.

"Sam" he called out, heart quickening in his chest, "Sammy!"

His feet pounded against familiar floors, his stomach tightening, twisting up into knots. He turned the corner just as the lights went out and the red back up lights flickered on. It caused him to stumble a moment, hand reaching out toward the wall to right himself. When he pulled it away, his fingertips were wet and sticky. He looked down at them and then to the trail of blood along the wall that looked black under the dim lights. There was so much of it. Too much of it.

Another step hand him tripping over the first dead body, and he paused to raise his head, taking in another and another, faces he vaguely recognised as those they had brought back from apocalypse word. He swallowed the dread and pushed on, quickening his pace once more until he broke out of the corridors and into the main room of the bunker. It took him a moment to find Sam, and he heard him before he saw him, gasping and choking on his own breath.

Dean surged forward, so very conscious of Sam's wide eyes and the way he tried to back away. The way he tried to fight Dean off of him with whatever strength he had left.

"Sam," Dean tried, dropping to him knees in front of his brother, "Come on, Sam… It's me. It's me…"

But still, Sam pushed away, until his back was against the wall and he could fight Dean no longer as Dean pulled him into his arms, taking in the blood and cuts and gashes. The laboured breathing, strangled wheezing, the way Sam shivered and shook, until he shuddered just one last time, letting go of one last breath, before falling so perfectly still.

"Sam…" Dean pleaded, closing his eyes tight and trying to force his own breathing to steady. "No, no, no, no. It isn't real. It isn't real… It isn't real."

"Oh, but it will be," he heard his own voice say in reply, and he opened his eyes to see Jasper standing over him in Dean's body, covered in blood that was most definitely not his own.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

This time, Dean's body was limp when they bound him, and this time they bound him to the bed. Sam's decision. He needed to clean the wound, and despite Eddie's protests, Sam knew it would easier that way. He set to work on it whilst Eddie continued to grumble and rub at his own injuries and Rowena stood nearby with worried eyes and fidgeting hands that wanted to help.

"How long will the spell hold him?" Sam questioned, clearing his throat and trying to keep his mind off of his brother's blood coating his hands and the sheet, trying to separate himself from the task at hand.

"It varies," Rowena answered, voice lined with uncertainty. "A few hours? Maybe less?"

"And what happens when he wakes up?" Eddie growled, stalking forward until he was looming over Sam. "What's so different this time? What's to stop him from breaking free again?"

"He won't." Sam swallowed any doubt down, refusing to even look Eddie's way. He knew what Eddie was suggesting and he would be damned if he would even entertain it. No, Dean was still in there and they would get him back. They would find a way. He kept telling himself that, even as he dug into his brother's flesh for the bullet that had found a new home deep inside Dean's thigh.

"Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure? Jasper is strong – stronger than we even imagined. Hell, he's got magic and he damn well knows how to use it."

"Which is why we used the shackles." Calm, distant. Sam only briefly motioned to the shackles that now kept Dean in place, the same ones he had used on Rowena those few years before. If the handcuffs weren't enough anymore, he had to hope the shackles would be, as much as he hated the idea of tying Dean up like some rabid animal… but it wasn't Dean. It wasn't Dean…

He kept telling himself that, as the blood continued to ooze out from the wound he had created, as he pulled the bullet free and dropped it onto the bedside cabinet, as his head pounded and gut ached from his own injuries. He listened only half-heartedly to Rowena as she explained to Eddie how the shackles had held her and how her own magic would help keep Jasper in check. The rest of the words washed over him like radio static, the buzzing in his ears almost as deafening as the sound of his own heartbeat. Kathump, kathump, kathumping.

"Sam… Samuel?" Rowena whispered softly, but the words only made it through when he felt the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder.

Sam let go of the breath he hadn't even realised he was holding and gave himself a shake. He cleared his throat and offered her a quick glance and nod before returning to the task at hand, returning to stitching up his brother's leg with fingers that were bruised and aching. "I'm okay… I'm fine."

No one said anything else until Sam had finished up and washed up in the bathroom. He couldn't bring himself to look at his wounds in what remained of the broken bathroom mirror, but he could already feel the bruise forming on his jaw line, feel the lump starting to grow. Pushing his pain aside, he moved to the open doorway, still drying his hands as he did so, and looked out at Eddie and Rowena.

"We need to find a way to wake Dean up, get him to cast Jasper out somehow," he said, throwing the towel back toward the sink before heading further into the main room once more.

"Great idea," Eddie answered. "And how do we do that?"

Sam came to stand at the foot of Dean's bed and folded his arms over his chest. "If we were back at the bunker, we could have tried getting inside his head with that machine from the Men of Letters… Hell, if nothing else, we'd have access to African dream root."

"Well, I don't have any dream root handy," Rowena answered, slow and cautious, "but I may have an idea."

She moved toward her bag, pulling out her book and several ingredients, placing them neatly on the spare bed. Muttering under her breath, she seemed to go over the ingredients, checking each and every one before looking to Sam once and deciding that his silence must have been permission for her to continue.

"I can't _exactly_ get into his head, not with this," she said, motioning what was laid out on the bed, "but I know a spell that can manipulate a person's dreams. It might be enough to give Dean a way out, give him control of his mind and expel Jasper. Of course, the problem then is that once Jasper is out of Dean, we still need a way to banish him completely and I'm afraid I don't have a spell for that."

Brow burrowed, Sam chewed at his lip in thought and gave a light shake of his head. "We don't need a spell. Once he's out of Dean, he's just a regular spirit. Simple salt and burn."

"You're conveniently forgetting the part where Jasper is bound to your brother," Eddie answered.

"Samuel! Surely, you're not suggesting we…" Rowena started, stopping herself before she could finish, and Sam knew immediately what she was thinking.

"No… God no!" Sam shook his head vehemently. "We're not killing Dean, even temporarily. But, what if we can transfer that bond to something else? I mean, there's got to be a way, right? Spirits get attached to things all the time, so surely we can bind Jasper to something other than Dean… and then…"

"Well, in theory, I suppose. But…"

"But?"

"Spirits become attached to something of meaning to them. You couldn't just bind him to a piece of paper and expect it to take. Magic has rules."

"What about Hudson?"

"The bodach?"

"It's what we were going to do before he err… before Jasper killed him."

Rowena tilted her head to the side, eyes wide and incredulous as she looked Sam over. "You want me to bind your ghost to a dead body? That is a bit unorthodox… it's… it's… I don't even know if it would work."

"If anyone could pull it off, Rowena," Sam said with a firm nod, standing tall and sure, "it's you."

Her shoulders sank and she opened her mouth several times before letting go of a light huff. "Now why'd you have to go and say a thing like that?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_John's Journal – August 1993_

_Dean's back on his feet again. I talked to him on the phone and gave him his orders, told him I'd swing by and pick him and Sam up when I've finished up this new hunt I just caught wind of. Haunting in Kentucky by the looks of it. With all the leads dried up in Indiana, there's nothing left for me to do here. I've got Driscoll keeping an eye. I don't know much about him, but Caleb trusts him._

_Bobby says Dean hasn't brought up the dreams or the old man anymore. Seems he's pushed it all down, buried it deep, which is fine by me. Bobby says it's for the best, and he's probably right. I wasn't able to protect Dean from this thing, from whatever it did to him, but if I can protect him from the memories… then that's what I'll do. At least until this thing rears its head again._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left. Thank you for reading!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FINAL CHAPTER TIME! A huge thank you to everyone for reading.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Chapter 16

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean glared up at Jasper, slowly and carefully moving the all too still body of Sam to the floor beside him. Even though he knew it wasn't real, the bunker, the chaos, Sam… even though he knew it was all in his head because that was what Jasper was making him see, it was still Sam and Dean couldn't bring himself to push his body away carelessly like the shadow it truly was.

He grabbed the blade beside him and dragged himself up to face Jasper head on, looking the man over, who still stood there in Dean's form – his own form forgotten. It looked like he was truly making himself at home inside of Dean's skin, basking in it and enjoying every minute. All so he could provide Dean with that little more torture, that little more self-hatred as he looked around at the chaos of the bunker. The blood, the bodies, the upturned furniture. All of it caused by the man before Dean, dressed up in his body like a cheap suit.

"Oh, this?" Jasper said, holding his arms out and looking around at the mess he had created. A malicious grin spread across his face, his eyes darkening with ill intent. "This is just a taste."

"You son of a…" Dean started, already pushing forward, fingers tightening around the blade.

Jasper took an immediate step back and held his hands up, never once losing that twisted smile. "Ah-ah!" He motioned down to Dean's leg and the wound that still hindered Dean, before pointing to his own. "This is what happened when your brother shot me."

"And your point is?"

"Whatever happens to me, happens to you. So if you try to kill me…"

Dean swallowed hard around the implication before finishing the line of thought. "I die."

"Clever boy."

Fingers adjusting on the blade, Dean breathed in and looked down to Sam once more, his own eyes mimicking the deadness in Sam's, anger boiling at his blood and spreading out. "And what about Sam?"

"Sam?" Jasper questioned, tilting his head to the side.

"My brother, jackass. What about him? The _real_ Sam."

"You mean the one out there, in the real world."

"Yeah," Dean answered, sharp. "Out there."

"Alive, for now," Jasper answered through gritted teeth. It was the first time his cockiness wavered, the first time he showed annoyance. "Until I wake up at least."

At that, Dean paused a moment and pointed the blade toward Jasper. "So this… this is you, trapped." With his free hand, he tapped at the side of his head. "Inside here."

Jasper grumbled and turned away, his own fists clenched as he walked away from Dean. "Thanks to your witch. But her magic won't hold me for long."

"Huh…" Dean let go of a light snort, a small and dangerous smile slipping onto his lips. "So let me get this straight…"

That got Jasper's attention and he turned back around to face Dean but said nothing.

"You're trapped, in my head, and whatever happens to you… happens to me?" Dean adjusted his grip on the blade so it was no longer pointed up and out, but down and ready to fight, ready to draw blood. "And you think that's a good thing?"

Jasper paused, seemingly taking in Dean's words and what lay beneath them. It took him a moment, but Dean could physically see the instant it clicked. "Even you're not that stupid."

Dean's smile simply widened. "Oh, I wouldn't count on it."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"How's it looking, Rowena?" Sam questioned, restless as he stood watch over his brother, taking in each movement, each wince of pain and gritting of teeth, the way Dean formed fists with his hands. In that moment, Sam felt helpless.

Rowena looked up from the metal bowl she was working at, her fingertips paused mid-flick of a page. "How's it…" She bit her tongue and placed her hands flat on the table, eyebrows raised at Sam, challenging. "Working one complicated spell is hard enough, but two? At the same time? This isn't exactly a simple love spell or a wee curse. So you'll have to excuse me if it's taking a little longer than you would like."

"Will it be ready?"

Rowena snorted. "It's not me you should be concerned about, Samuel. Your hunter friend not only has to steal a body from the morgue but also find somewhere safe to perform the second half of the spell, all before our boy wakes up and pushes that ghost of his out."

"And if Eddie's not ready?"

A simple glare, tone deep and drawn out. "Guess."

Sam breathed in and nodded. They would be stuck with Jasper, unable to do much in the way of defending themselves for fear of it hurting Dean. Because pushing Jasper out was one thing, but breaking his connection to Dean? That was something else.

A sharp intake of breath from Dean drew Sam's attention back toward his brother. Dean's head whipped to the side, a sharp cut forming neatly across his cheek, blood already beginning to seep out.

"Rowena?" Sam questioned.

"Samuel," she replied sharply, taught and tight, but all aggression left her voice as her gaze found Dean.

"What's happening to him?"

"If I had to guess, I would say he's fighting against Jasper and one of them got hurt."

"So even in his head…"

"It would appear so. Any injuries he sustains appear to be manifesting out here too. I mean, there are those who believe that if you die in a dream, you wake up… but this…?"

"This?" Sam swung to consider Rowena. "What happens if one of them kills the other?"

"Perhaps," Rowena said, casting her eyes determinedly down as her actions became hurried, "it would be best we don't find out."She finished wrapped the pouch on the table before her, movements deft and spell quiet. When she was done, she held the pouch out for Sam to take. "Now, be a dearie and put this under your brother's pillow before we completely run out of time. I just hope your hunter friend is in place."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Dean lunged forward, going in low and aiming to take a swipe at Jasper's guts, but the latter blocked him at the last moment. Still, determination spread through Dean, giving him strength against the exhaustion he had previously felt, and the look in Jasper's eyes only fuelled the fire. Dead and haunted, angry and consuming… all of that was gone, to be replaced by a sheen of panic. Dean had seen it time and time again, in monsters and demons, when they realised they no longer had the upper hand. He had seen it in good people, had felt it, had caused it, had witnessed it so many times over.

"Doesn't feel so good, does it?" Dean growled, pushing further into Jasper as the man attempted to push the blade away. "Being alive."

Before Jasper could retort, Dean pulled back, swinging away from Jasper and around, bringing his elbow up and into the side of Jasper's head. He felt the dizzying effect, even as Jasper stumbled back, dazed and no doubt confused by the sudden ringing in his ears. That was where Dean had the upper hand. He was by no means unbreakable, by no means perfect, but he had enough experience and drive to push on through the pain.

"You should have stayed dead," Dean continued, once more swiping the blade.

Jasper caught it in his right hand, gripping the sharp edge so tight that Dean could already feel the stinging in his own, could feel the blood seeping out as he saw it do the same with Jasper's hand. Still, Jasper continued to squeeze until Dean could no longer hold onto the hilt and both let go, metal and wood landing on the floor with a clatter.

"You think you're a hero," Jasper drawled, words dripping with acid, head tilted to the side. "You think you make the world a better place. You're nothing but a puppet. You think you can fight it, you think you can change it, but that's all you've ever been. It's all you'll ever be. Daddy's little soldier, Michael's meat suit, a sacrificial pawn in a never-ending war. You're nothing."

"Maybe you're right," Dean answered, never looking away as he and Jasper began to circle one another, "maybe you're wrong. Either way, I can still kick your ghostly Elm Street ass."

Both dove for the blade, but Jasper made it there first. He landed neatly and scooped it up into his grip, swinging it upwards and towards Dean. But Dean fell backwards, narrowly avoiding the sharpened blade. He made to stand but Jasper was on him immediately, pushing Dean's back down against the cold floor and pinning him to it. His hands shot up and grabbed Jasper by the wrists, halting him and the blade before it could come down toward his head.

It would have been a stalemate, but Jasper twisted in such a way that it caused pain to shoot up through the wound in Dean's leg. It was just enough to give him the advantage, Dean's grip loosening for a moment too long. The edge of the blade sliced into Dean's cheek as he moved his head out of the way just in time before the rest of the blade became embedded in the floor beside Dean's ear.

Dean took the opportunity to throw a fist at Jasper's face and it was enough to throw Jasper off balance and give Dean enough of an upper hand to push the guy off of him so he could scramble to his knees. His gaze met Jasper's once more, taking in the upturned snarl and fresh cut on Jasper's face – the face that mirrored Dean's own face too well. But if he looked hard enough, he could see a flicker. He could begin to see where he started and Jasper ended, which meant Jasper wasn't as strong as he thought he was.

Wrapping his left, and uninjured hand, around the hilt of the knife, Dean yanked it free from the wooden floor and pushed up fully to his feet. "You know, I'm wondering," he said, pointing the blade toward the blood on Jasper's face, "you say whatever happens to you, happens to me right? If you die, I die."

Jasper narrowed his gaze, straightening up, but said nothing.

"So what happens," Dean said, turning the blade away from Jasper and taking a deep and steadying breath, "if I die?"

He held the blade over his own chest, gauging Jasper's reaction – or the carefully controlled lack of it. The only thing that gave Jasper away was the way his hands formed fists at his side. That was all Dean needed to know. He swallowed hard, contemplating the thought a further moment. Back all those years ago, when he had been trapped inside his own mind because of the djinn, killing himself had made him wake up. But something told him that wouldn't be the case this time.

It was the perfect answer. Jasper was bound to him after all. Because of the spell, he was the thing keeping Jasper's spirit there. It was the best he had… but still, he hesitated.

"What's the matter?" Jasper taunted. "Afraid to die? Oh, it ain't so bad… trust me, I should know."

At that, Dean snorted. "Oh, I've been dead enough times to know what it's like. No… I'm just waiting."

"For what?"

Dean listened carefully to the light hum in the air, a shadow of words buzzing through it that he hadn't noticed before. He had been too focused on what was in front of him that he had forgotten about what Jasper had said before. Rowena had been the one to lock Jasper up inside Dean's head, which meant she was there, out in the real world – with Sam.

The words continued, a little clearer this time, foreign but familiar, and Dean couldn't help the upturn at the corner of his mouth as he looked behind Jasper and at the sliver of light that spread out in a single vertical line.

"I think it's time we both woke up," he answered, focusing once more on Jasper.

He never gave the man a chance to answer. Never gave any of it a second thought. He dropped the blade and lunged forward, gripping hold of Jasper as he went, and sending them both through the portal that he just prayed was his ticket out of there.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

After placing the hex bag beneath Dean's pillow, Sam didn't take his eyes off of his brother until Dean woke with a gasp and a splutter, sitting upright on the bed, eyes wide, taking in the room, before closing tight as his hand shot down to the wound in his leg and he grunted in pain. Sam adjusted his grip on the gun in his hand and cast a brief glance toward Rowena before turning his attention back to Dean.

Dean peeled his eyes open and looked up to Sam, eyebrow raised, voice hoarse but light and teasing. "You gonna shoot me again, Sammy?"

"That depends," Sam answered, still trying to decide if it was Dean or if it was Jasper.

"It's me," Dean said in return, with a curt nod, a tight grimace setting on his face as he looked around the room again, but this time no doubt taking more of it in. "But if I'm me, then where the hell's Jasper?"

"No doubt taking a stroll about the ghostly plane," Rowena spoke up, one hand hovering over the metal bowl in front of her as her other was aimed toward Dean. She looked to Sam though, and he could see the tension in her shoulders, the worry in her eyes. "We don't have much time, Sam."

"Time?" Dean questioned, and he tried to push up from the bed, but found himself stopped by two things. The first being the pain in his leg, and the second being the shackle around his wrist and the chain that ran from it toward the frame of the bed. "Really, Sam? 'Cuffs not good enough?"

Sam offered up an apologetic smile and exaggerated shrug of his shoulders before moving away and back toward the table Rowena stood behind. Once there, he swapped the gun with the witch-killing bullets for the shotgun loaded with rock salt. Inside of Dean, Jasper was all but immune to the usual ghostly repellents, but outside, he was just another spirit.

Chewing at his lip, Sam's gaze wandered around the room. "Call him, Rowena…"

The spell spilled out from Rowena's lips, her tongue twisting and turning around the words, each one purposeful and determined. When she said the last, she cast the item in her hand into the bowl and a small purple flame burst into life before vanishing to be replaced by a trail of smoke that hung there a moment or two longer.

Sam felt the air shift before he saw anything, felt the cold spread across his skin. The first telltale sign he saw was his own breath in front of him, the next was Dean's widened eyes.

"Sam! Look out!" Dean called, and he was tugging frantically at the shackles and frame of the bed.

Raising the gun and turning at the same time, Sam knew he was already too late. Jasper was right behind him and he gripped the barrel of the shotgun with one hand tight as he used the other to grip Sam's neck. Cold, dead eyes glared upward into Sam's.

"I should have killed you first," Jasper said, and he tightened his hold on Sam, his smile growing the less Sam was able to breathe. "Still, time to rectify that mistake."

"Lu… a, er Luath airson… dust…" Dean's voice broke through, the words uncertain as he repeated the same spell Eddie had used before on Jasper, and even as the spots danced in front of Sam's eyes, he could imagine the intense concentration on his brother's face as he tried to remember the words. "Tio-tio…"

"Tionndaidh thu gu far a bheil thu," came the continued words, the tinny and barely audible voice of Eddie from the phone that sat beside Rowena on the table. Sam had called him when he had placed the hex bag and left him on speakerphone ready.

Jasper snarled and flickered, disappearing only to reappear behind Rowena. Sam shouted a quick warning toward the witch before bringing the shotgun up. It was only when Rowena ducked, her hands going over her head as she did so, that Sam fired, the salt meeting with Jasper's chest. In response, Dean cried out, falling back against the bed once more.

"They're still linked, Sam," Rowena shot out, pulling herself up from behind the table once more, but looking about the room with caution.

Sam nodded in understanding, keeping his focus determinedly away from Dean as he adjusted the shotgun, ready in case he needed it again. It was one thing hearing and knowing what was being done to Dean every time they hurt Jasper, but seeing it… Sam knew he would hesitate, and there could be no hesitation.

"Eddie," he called out to the phone, "now!"

Simultaneously, Eddie and Rowena began to speak, each performing one half of a whole spell. Almost immediately, Dean let go of another cry of pain and at first, Sam thought it was the spell. But as he turned to look to Dean, he saw Jasper straddling him, one hand pushing down into Dean's chest, toward his heart.

Sam took aim and fired another round of rock salt at Jasper, knowing full well that it would hurt Dean too, but it was better than the alternative. As soon as Jasper dissipated, Sam dug into his pockets and pulled out the keys to the shackles. He had barely been given the chance to throw them toward Dean before when Jasper appeared again, slamming into Sam. The motion send Sam backward until he tripped, colliding hard with the floor.

Jasper pushed down on him as Sam tried to push up, struggled against Jasper. Both had one hand on the handle of the shotgun and the other on the barrel, until Sam managed to buck and manoeuvre himself and the gun just enough to get it into a position he could take aim.

_Click_.

Out of shells. Sam swallowed hard and Jasper's smile grew wicked. He was about to push down once more when iron chains wrapped around his neck, pulling tight until Jasper vanished and Sam found himself looking up at Dean instead. Instantly, Dean was holding out his hand and pulling Sam up to his feet, even whilst he was unsteady on his own.

Behind the pair, Rowena finished her spell, her hands colliding above the dish as fire rose up and out of it. Silence followed once the fire died down and Sam listened, looking about the room for any sign of Jasper. Waiting… just waiting.

"Did it work?" he asked, opening up the shotgun to reload it. When Rowena didn't respond, he swung to look at her, his impatience slipping in. "Rowena, did it work?"

She offered up a shrug, her own eyes meeting his a mere moment before returning to search the room also. "I… I don't know."

Sam swallowed hard and closed the shotgun once more, mouth tight as he breathed in deeply through his nose. They had one shot at this. One shot and that was all. They couldn't afford to waste it if the spell hadn't worked. Beside him, Dean wrapped one side of the chain loosely around his hand before pulling it taut in his grip, readying himself for another attack.

"Come on, you son of a bitch," Sam muttered beneath his breath through gritted teeth, his trigger finger itchy and ready to go. "Come on…"

"All you're doing is buying time," Jasper taunted from behind, and all spun to face him as he stood by the front door of the room. He flickered and disappeared, only to appear again directly in front of Dean. "You think you have it all figured out. You think by kicking me out, you're in control. I've seen what's in your head, Dean." He leaned in to whisper in Dean's ear, but Sam could hear the words loud and clear. "You were never in control, and believe me, I'm the least of your worries."

Dean's grip tightened on the chain, but when he went to lash out, Jasper flickered again. Sam felt cold behind him before he felt the grip on his shoulder. He swung around as soon as he did, swinging the shotgun up and firing as soon as he had it between himself and Jasper. This time, Sam was the quicker of the pair. This time the rock salt hit home. But whilst it blasted through Jasper, pushing him away for a moment, that was all it did. There was no cry of pain from Dean, just silence. Which was all Sam needed to know.

"It worked," Rowena said first, before Sam could. "Bloody hell… it actually worked."

"Eddie," Sam called out to the phone that still sat on the table, hoping that the elder hunter was still there and waiting, "do it."

There was no reply, but there didn't need to be. When Jasper reappeared, he took a step forward only to be halted by the flames that consumed his body. Sam knew then that Eddie had done what he was meant to, salting and burning Hudson's body, along with the spirit that was now attached to it – courtesy of a little spell work.

When Jasper was finally gone, his screams a mere echo, the cold air ebbing away, Dean looked between Sam and Rowena with raised eyebrows. "Does somebody want to tell me what just happened?"

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Sam gave Dean the cliff notes version of 'while you were sleeping', which revolved around Rowena modifying her spell and Eddie stealing Hudson's corpse. He tried to explain the bullet wound in Dean's leg, but Dean waved him off. He didn't need an explanation or apology, as much as he could see Sam wanted to provide one. He would have done the same thing. Still, Dean winced every time he moved his leg and begrudgingly climbed into the passenger side of the Impala, leaving the door open as he watched Sam through the doorway to the motel room.

Eddie's truck rumbled and groaned as it pulled up beside the Impala and Dean lifted his gaze toward the older hunter. He didn't think they would see him again before they made their way out of town, but here he was, turning off his engine and pulling himself from the front of his truck.

"Eddie," Dean greeted with a curt nod. "I'd get up but… you know." He motioned down to his leg.

"You leaving town?" Eddie questioned, but both knew it required no answer. It was nothing more than idle chitchat.

"Guess we're finally taking your advice." Dean gave a snort. "Better late than never."

Eddie merely scoffed in return, the sound dry and grim, but Dean swore he saw the twitch of a smile on the man's lips.

"Hey, Eddie, I gotta ask," Dean continued after another moment before clearing his throat and adjusting himself in the passenger seat once he knew he had Eddie's attention. "This town, why'd you stick around? Why'd you keep an eye on it after all this time?"

"Your daddy… he was many things, but he was a damn good hunter. When John Winchester said there was a pattern, you learned to listen. If he said a job wasn't done, you stuck around until the end." Eddie scratched at his chin, gaze wandering over the parking lot. "This job… this life, it ain't easy. Sometimes you've got to make the hard choices, whether you want to or not. Your daddy knew that, even when I didn't."

Dean hung his head in thought, Eddie's words sinking in. Even without going into detail, Dean knew his father's reputation amongst hunters and he knew what hard choices Eddie was talking about. Hell, Dean had faced plenty of them in his life and each one weighed down on him, but the heaviest of them all was the one placed on his shoulders by John Winchester himself. Save Sammy, or kill him. Dean swallowed hard. How many times had he had to make that choice, over and over again? His gaze moved to the motel room doorway once more, taking in the movements beyond it, and he knew, he had always known, it was a choice that didn't even need thinking about. Save him. Every time.

"You and your brother," Eddie continued on, "you're lucky. Having each other's backs… In this life, you need that. You need someone to… well, you know."

"Keep you human," Dean finished for him, and Eddie gave a light nod at the words.

"You Winchesters are something else, I can tell you that. John would be proud."

At that Dean snorted. He was thankful for the sight of Sam emerging from the motel room, and even more thankful as Sam walked toward then, offering up a nod of the head to Eddie in greeting.

Eddie cleared his throat and straightened up, a somewhat mischievous grin on his face as he reached back into his truck and pulled out a bag. "I got you boys a little something." He handed the bag to Dean as Sam loaded up their gear in the trunk. "For your ride back home."

Dean opened the bag and peered inside and at the two plastic food containers, taking in their contents before looking back up to Eddie. "Pie?"

"And not just any pie," Eddie answered, climbing back into his truck and closing the door behind him but continuing on through the open window, "since Hudson's Diner went out of commission, I hear it's the best pie in town."

"And we didn't get you anything in return?" Dean shot back, ignoring the laugh from Sam that continued on well after Eddie pulled away and Sam climbed into the driver's seat.

Removing one of the containers from the bag, Dean lightly tossed the other onto the back seat. It was only when he opened it and picked up the plastic fork that he realised Sam was watching him with a raised eyebrow. "What?"

"You're kidding, right? After everything, you're going to eat that?"

"It's pie… I'm not gonna waste perfectly good pie. It's not the pie's fault the McLaren's were crazy ass witches that tried to use me to bring their dead son back." He gave a shrug and stuck the fork into the pie, scooping up a good big bite. Only when he shoved it into his mouth did he look to Sam then back to the still open motel room door, motioning his head toward it. "What happened with Rowena?"

Sam turned the key in the engine and started up the Impala. "She's sticking around town for a few days. Said she wants to study the ley lines."

"And the McLaren's spell book…"

"It could be useful," was all Sam said in return, because they both knew it would be pointless arguing with Rowena about such things. He glanced back at the road behind them, then switched to reverse and pulled back, his eyes flickering down to Dean's leg as he did so before returning to the road. "We should get Cas to take a look at that when we get back."

"I'm fine, Sam."

"Dean, you were drugged and kidnapped and turned into some ghost's puppet. You can't really expect me to believe that after everything, that hasn't had some kind of effect on you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Is this the part where we hold hands and talk about our feelings?"

Sam raised an eyebrow but said nothing, his long and drawn out silence speaking volumes.

Letting go of a lengthy breath, Dean rolled his eyes and neck and placed the plastic fork down in the container. "What do you want me to say, Sam? Did it suck? Being possessed by a freaking ghost? Yeah. But you know… that wasn't even the worst part. The worst was when…" He paused, licking at his lips as he took a steadying breath. "When I first went under, it was like Michael all over again. Hell, I thought it was him. Jasper, he… he got inside my head and he knew exactly which buttons to press. And it's just… I can't help but feel like I'm forgetting something. Like there's something there and I… every time I come close to remembering what it is, my mind fogs over and I forget, and I just can't help but think – what if Jasper's right?"

"About what?"

"That we're just buying time."

"Until what? Until Michael jumps your bones again?" Sam shot him a sidelong glance. "Dean, he's gone. Once he's out, he's out. He can't get back in without your consent. That's how angels work."

"I want the son of a bitch dead. I want him dead and buried." Dean had barely even realised his hands had formed fists until he felt the sting and bite in his right palm and he looked down to see the wound there reopened. He cursed under his breath and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a rag to hold in his hand until the bleeding stopped. Sam said nothing, but Dean knew he had seen. He was just choosing his battles.

"We'll find him and we'll kill him. Together. Because that's what we do."

Dean snorted, but didn't object, allowing himself to fall back a little further, stretching out until the nape of his neck found the top of the seat. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see Jasper's version of the bunker clearly in his mind, from the red lights to the blood smeared walls. But each time he tried to focus on the corridors, it was like he was looking at static. He remembered it all so perfectly. The lake, Purgatory, Sam's dead eyes. But that corridor? There was something there that unnerved him, he just couldn't remember what that something was.

"I hope you're right, Sam," he answered absently, watching in the side mirror as the sign for New Hope began to disappear behind them. After everything that had happened in that town, from the past and the present, it was Jasper's words that haunted him most.

_You were never in control_.

From before they were even born, from their mom saying yes to Yellow Eyes. From the first, second, and third apocalypses. Angels, demons, leviathans. It always came back to the same thing. Whatever choices they made, they always seemed to end up in the same place. It played on Dean's mind, Jasper's words twisting over and over again, and it would have meant nothing, if the same sentiment hadn't been offered to him years before.

Michael. Lucifer. Everything. The itch at the back of his mind that refused to settle. Jasper was right. He was the perfect hunter. The perfect soldier. The perfect vessel. Which made him question, after everything, who was really in control?

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

_Bobby's journal – August 1993_

_John Winchester is an ass. He shows up at my door, boys in tow, with Dean looking like he's gone twelve rounds with a damn chupacabra and clammed up tighter than the lid on a jar of pickles. This ain't no life for those kids, but try telling that to the great John Winchester._

_He'll kill me if he finds out I let the daughter of a hoodoo priestess near his boy. But what John doesn't know can't hurt him – or me. As far as he's concerned, Dean has been forgetting about this whole ordeal on his own and I've told him it's for the best._

_Whatever did this to Dean, it used some pretty strong magic. Strong enough to follow him all the way here. This thing wanted him badly. But Delphine worked some of her mojo and whatever connection was there seems to have been broken. Still, I wouldn't recommend Dean go back to New Hope anytime soon._

_If John had any sense he would get them out of hunting altogether, settle down somewhere, forget about finding the damn thing that killed his wife, before it's too late. But he won't, and I can already see it Dean's eyes. The kid has a knack for it, like it's in his blood or something, and the way John's got him trained… there's only two ways it can end for us hunters and those boys deserve better. They deserve a chance to live a normal life. But with those boys, something tells me that was never really in the cards._

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: THE END! Thank you so much for reading and for your amazing support throughout! We start by writing fanfic for ourselves, but it's the audience that helps truly breathe life into it.
> 
> So what comes next from me? I have another two Supernatural fanfics in me that I'm hoping to write and post. The first is a request that I've been letting ferment for quite some while (I wanted to get this story done and dusted before I made a proper start on that one), and the second fic is a suggestion for a prequel to this story! Wee!Chesters! ^_^
> 
> Lastly, I've started posting one of my original stories up on Wattpad under the penname rayuk666 (ideally, the link should be in my bio but there's a ghost in the machine there or something that is stopping it from working). It's an old Nanowrimo story I wrote a few years back that I decided to start editing and posting - just for anyone who may be interested in that sort of thing.
> 
> And again, thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> More to come soon...


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